


hurry home

by augustbird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bondlock, John as 007, M/M, Sherlock as Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augustbird/pseuds/augustbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John is recruited into the MI6 to track down a security leak, he didn’t expect it to get this out of hand.  At least he has Sherlock Holmes. <i>Skyfall</i> fusion.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/371397">us against</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hurry home

**Author's Note:**

> Normally I like writing fics in the same verse that can be read alone, but in this case, it would probably be a good idea to read [us against](http://archiveofourown.org/works/371397) first to understand this fic. The Sherlock and John in this fic are around 24-25 years old. This fic was partially inspired by and borrows shamelessly from _Skyfall_. I feel like I should apologize for the copious amounts of sex but I'm probably not going to.  
>  I'm forever grateful to [Helen](http://arthurdented.tumblr.com/) for her suggestions and Britpicking advice which made this fic a million times better. This fic would literally not exist if not for [Julia](http://otterbatch.tumblr.com/) who patiently endured my endless whining and singlehandedly cheerleaded my lazy muse on to the end. <333
> 
> [Click here for Chinese translation provided by crystalli](http://www.mtslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=80778)

**PROLOGUE**

Sherlock slams the doors of Mycroft's office open.

Mycroft barely looks up from his paperwork as he says, “Close the doors, Sherlock.”

“You can't,” Sherlock snarls as he strides forward. Mycroft's assistant shuts the door.

“I can,” Mycroft says, putting his pen down, “And I have. It's not time for him to come home yet.”

“I'll kill you,” Sherlock says putting his palms face down on Mycroft's desk and leaning over him, “I'll kill you and I'll hack into your email and steal your access and I'll order him home.”

Mycroft studies his face. “Careful dear brother,” he murmurs, “Those words could get you arrested around here.”

Sherlock hisses a breath between his teeth.

“Do stop with the dramatics,” Mycroft says as he looks back down at his paperwork, “Go back to your studies. I've heard from Professor Chen that you're working on your own advanced algorithm theory now?”

Sherlock kicks over one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

“We're going to have to do something about your temper,” Mycroft says.

“He's going to die out there,” Sherlock shouts, “And you don't even care!”

“He's not going to die,” Mycroft says as he gets to his feet, “You will pick that chair up, right now.”

Sherlock glares at him, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“He won't die,” Mycroft repeats, “He's far too valuable for that to happen. This I promise you.”

Sherlock slowly bends down to right the chair.

“Thank you,” Mycroft says.

Sherlock works hard to control his breathing. He stares at Mycroft.

“I know how much you miss him.”

Sherlock looks away, out the window. Then he turns to leave.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft says. Sherlock opens the door.

“Remember your promise to me,” Mycroft says.

Sherlock's gone.

_____

“Oi, Sergeant Watson!”

John turns the sound of his name. The postmaster leans over the counter, grinning. “Thought that was you. Got a package.”

John wants nothing more than a hot shower and to crawl into a real bed so he can pass the fuck out. But he manages a smile and steps up to the counter anyway.

“Here you are mate,” the man says, stacking a box and two envelopes on the counter. John hefts it into his arms.

“Books from your boyfriend again?”

“Looks like it,” John says and leaves before he can get dragged into a conversation.

_____

John lies down on his bunk without opening any of his mail. The exhaustion of the past two weeks catches up with him and he falls asleep without taking his shoes off.

_____

Someone shakes his shoulder. John mumbles something into his pillow and rolls toward the wall.

Someone shakes his shoulder more insistently.

“Fine,” John says and pushes himself up, “What is it?”

“Phone call for you.”

_____

John stares down at the letter. It’s typed--John figures he’s never going to be important enough to warrant a personally handwritten letter from Mycroft.

“Don’t do it.” Sherlock’s voice sounds different over the satellite phone, static interference pitching his voice even lower. John misses him desperately.

“I can’t do that,” John says.

“Come home,” Sherlock insists, “We can deal with Mycroft.”

John smiles sadly even though he knows Sherlock can’t see him. “You know I can’t do that.”

_____

Harry still writes him once in a while. Mycroft helped her apply to university. She’s going to have the life that John’s never had the chance to have. She writes about her classes and the people she’s met. She never writes about any of the boys she’s met and skirts around the descriptions of her close girlfriends until John writes, _You know, Sherlock and I are together, right?_. She writes back, _I’m pretty sure I like girls,_ and John wishes he could have been there in person to pull her into a hug.

_____

“What the hell are you going to do with that?”

John cracks the textbook open with a good-humoured, “Shut up Marsh.”

“You know you’re just going to fall asleep on that book in about two minutes.”

“Nah,” Brooks pipes in as he disassembles his rifle, “I’ll give sergeant nerd there thirty seconds tops.”

“You going to read to us, sir?” Marsh grins as he plonks his arse down in front of John’s bunk, crossing his legs and dropping his chin into his hand.

“You wouldn’t understand a bloody word, Marsh.”

“Oh, high and mighty now, is he?” Marsh looks around at Brooks who just grins back.

“Well I sure as hell can’t fall asleep with your incessant whining.”

“You love my voice,” Marsh says, “Oooooh John, yeah, do me harder.”

“Does your boyfriend sound like that?” Brooks asks as he cleans his gun.

“Fuck off.” John kicks at Marsh’s leg. “You don’t even know how to suck dick properly.”

“I could learn,” Marsh says, leaning forward and putting a hand on John’s knee. John laughs.

“You could punish me,” Marsh continues and bats his eyelashes, “For insubordination.”

“Think your fiancée might have an issue or two with that,” John says as he tilts the textbook up.

Marsh flops onto the ground with his head on Brooks’s boots. “I’m going to sleep for a million years.”

“Can’t,” Brooks says, “We’re pulled for perimeter outpost again.”

“Who the fuck up at command thinks it’s okay to pull us three times in a row?” Marsh growls as he covers his eyes with his forearm. “Let one of the other companies have a go.”

The three of them lapse into silence. John tries to read the first page of the biology textbook Sherlock sent him but Marsh is right. He just wants to sleep.

“Hey sergeant,” Marsh says, lifting his arm and squinting up at the fluorescent light. “Is it true you’re deploying again after this tour?”

John shuts the book. Who’s he kidding? He’s not going to get any fucking reading done.

“Why?” Marsh asks.

“Figure I can do more out here than at home.”

Brooks snorts. Marsh declares, “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve seen you holed up in this room when we’re off duty,” Marsh continues with his eyes closed, “Going through those fucking textbooks.”

John drops the text into the locker at the foot of his bed.

“You know what I think?”

“God forbid,” John says.

“I think you want to be a doctor,” Marsh continues. He sits up and looks at John.

“So why don’t you do it?”

_____

By mid-afternoon, the sheets that Sherlock dragged out of bed with him that morning have been long forgotten. Sherlock types furiously on his laptop as he crouches on the chair, fuelled only by the two nicotine patches on his forearm and the sharp focus of anger.

The sun is setting by the time the doorbell rings. Sherlock doesn’t budge from his chair and continues to type. Footsteps sound on the stairs but Sherlock doesn’t pay attention.

“For god’s sake Sherlock, put on some clothes,” Mycroft says.

Sherlock doesn’t look up.

Mycroft leans down next to the table and unplugs the router from the wall. He unplugs the cord from the router and tucks the router into his pocket. It takes Sherlock nearly two minutes to realize he’s no longer connected to the internet.

“What the hell?” he snarls.

“I received an interesting phone call from the Pentagon this afternoon,” Mycroft says.

“It took them that long?” Sherlock gets off the chair and tries to reach into Mycroft’s pocket but Mycroft sidesteps him. “Group of incompetent morons.”

“I know you have pants, Sherlock.”

“Give me back my router,” Sherlock demands, grabbing hold of Mycroft’s coat.

“I know you’re angry at me,” Mycroft says, “But taking it out on a third party is inexcusable.”

“Should I have hacked into the SIS mainframe instead? Rerouted trains on the Underground? Wipe the NHS records?”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft says quietly, “You realize the reason why John cannot come home.”

“Because you’re loathsome,” Sherlock hisses, digging his nails into the fabric of Mycroft’s coat.

“Because you’re not ready, Sherlock,” Mycroft says, “And until you really _apply_ yourself, John will not be coming home.”

_____

“Sergeant Watson,” Captain Pace calls out while John’s in the middle of checking the oil pressure gauge of his vehicle. “A word in private, please?”

John wipes his hands on a rag and draws his head out from behind the bonnet. Captain Pace stands away from the grouped humvees.

“Sir?” John asks as he approaches.

“A congratulations is in order, I think,” Captain Pace says as he holds out an envelope, “New insignia.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Queen’s commission,” Captain Pace says, “Second Lieutenant Watson.” He claps John on the shoulder and turns to walk away.

“Sir,” John says, stepping forward, “Where am I being transferred to?”

Captain Pace stops and turns slightly. “Thought I’d give you a moment to celebrate before I gave you the other news.”

John takes another step forward. His oily fingers smudge across the manilla envelope.

“Pakistan,” the captain says.

_____

**INTERIM**

Sherlock drinks tea in the morning and writes a protocol to descramble signals from Japanese spy satellites orbiting over Israel before dinnertime. It’s not that anyone particularly needs the information--it’s more that Sherlock wants to see if he can do it.

_____

John calls for an airstrike for the first time. He watches the bombs hit closer and closer to the line of trucks silhouetted on the horizon--a miniature series of sunsets on the wrong side of these parched hills.

His platoon is cheering. “Take that you fuckers!” one of them yells.

John shields his eyes against the light of the explosions.

_____

“Have you slept?” Mycroft demands as lifts the blanket in Sherlock’s chair with his umbrella. He turns his head to look at Sherlock who’s still in the midst of flicking something from the bottom of a 96-well plate.

The blanket slides from the end of Mycroft’s umbrella and drops back onto the chair. “When you wanted access to lab facilities, this is not what I had in mind.”

“Computers are dull,” Sherlock announces, “I’m making a new computer. Why not use the system that has housed the most complex processes yet?”

“Have you eaten anything in the past 48 hours?” Mycroft asks.

“Cells!” Sherlock says, “And as soon as I design them properly, i won’t even need to prod them into self replicating correctly.”

“Food, Sherlock,” Mycroft says, “Have you had any?”

Sherlock puts his headphones back into his ears and turns up his music. Mycroft sighs.

_____

John looks across the tops of the ruined buildings with his gun slung across his shoulder. The moonlight illuminates the jagged rocks of the foothills around them and the fleet of military vehicles parked at the edge of the village. No tracer fire tonight. Sweet silence.

In five minutes he’ll be back downstairs going over protocol to establish a new outpost and picking the best routes for a supply line. They’re low on petrol and can’t rely on air support forever. But for now, John sits on the crumbled wall of the roof and imagines himself seven thousand miles away. He rubs at the corner of the last letter the supply lines had managed to deliver. He misses the feel of Sherlock’s hand in his.

“Captain Watson?”

John gets to his feet and turns.

“They’re waiting for you.”

“Right,” John says and manages a smile.

_____

**PRESENT DAY**

London Heathrow is packed. John should have known better than to schedule his flight home right before Christmas but the constant press and bustle of civilians is a small price to pay to see Sherlock standing in the arrivals hall with his hands in his pockets. John swears he feels his heart leap into his throat.

“Hi,” Sherlock says when John drops his bag, still staring. He’s smiling at John and he doesn’t look away.

“God,” John says and drags Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock smells like winter wind and smoke, like the stupidly expensive shampoo that he’s used since he was a teenager. John wills himself not to cry. Sherlock laughs against his neck and won’t let go.

“I missed you,” John says against the fabric of Sherlock’s scarf. Sherlock finally lets him go--only to pull him in for a kiss. John tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and opens his mouth, pressing closer. He’s only half aware of backing Sherlock up the few steps against the wall, other hand slipping down Sherlock’s back--

Sherlock growls low and rolls his hips up against John’s hardening cock and John remembers that they’re in a very public area. John pulls away but can’t stop staring at the slick red of Sherlock’s lips. “Come on,” he hears himself saying, “Let’s go home.”

_____

Sherlock has his hand half down the front of John’s boxers when the cabbie says, “We’re almost there.”

John half-heartedly pushes at Sherlock’s wrist but Sherlock bites down on his collarbone and closes his hand around John’s cock anyway. John stifles a gasp as Sherlock starts to move, licking softly at the place where he had bitten John.

Sherlock puts a hand over John’s mouth and bends his head down to mouth the tip of John’s cock. John manages not to whimper and retaliates by tracing the lines in Sherlock’s palm with his tongue. The cabbie turns up the music.

John comes, breathing heavily against Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock swallows and laps at the slit of his oversensitive cock before pulling away and tucking John back in.

“I don’t know if I can give you a blowjob in the cab,” John whispers at Sherlock.

“That’s fine,” Sherlock says, “We’re here.” He gets out of the car and leaves John to pay.

“Sorry mate,” John says as he hands over a generous tip.

_____

John throws his bag onto a chair the moment that he enters the new flat. Sherlock tosses his coat aside and unzips his trousers, sliding them off and pushing himself up onto the table in the living room. He’s sitting on papers but they must not be important because he spreads his legs as John moves towards him, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. John kisses him first, running a thumb across his jaw line before pressing his lips to the side of Sherlock’s neck and bending down with his palms on Sherlock’s thighs. He touches his mouth to the cotton of Sherlock’s briefs and just breathes him in.

Sherlock’s hands sink into John’s hair and he lets out a shuddering breath.

John wets the fabric with his tongue, solid strokes up the length of Sherlock’s cock, spreading saliva. Sherlock’s legs spread even farther and he pushes his hips up towards John’s mouth, a low keen in his throat. There’s a dark spot on the fabric where Sherlock’s leaked pre-come all over himself. John laughs and presses his tongue against it, tasting Sherlock before closing his mouth around the head of Sherlock’s cock through the fabric, trapping it against his hip. Sherlock tugs at his hair, and his voice is unsteady. “John.”

“I’m going to make you come in your pants,” John promises with his mouth still against Sherlock’s cock. He tilts his head as he moves in again, sliding his hands so that his thumbs slip under the fabric and rub at the skin beneath Sherlock’s balls before smoothing down the sides of his arse.

Sherlock makes a short high pitched noise, hand flying out to steady himself and knocking an empty mug onto the ground. John grins and presses the heel of his hand to the base of Sherlock’s cock, tonguing the head through the fabric. Sherlock rocks into his mouth, breathing in sharply through his nose with one hand at the back of John’s head. His body tenses when he comes.

John pulls down the ruined briefs and cleans Sherlock off with his tongue. Sherlock shivers and pulls John up for a kiss.

“How did you make this much of a mess already?” John asks against Sherlock’s lips, his toe nudging against the fallen mug. Sherlock growls and shoves his tongue into John’s mouth in effort to shut him up. John laughs and pulls away. “Seriously though, you’ve moved in for barely a week.”

“You’re ruining the mood,” Sherlock complains and tilts his head as John licks a broad stripe down his neck.

“Why don’t we move to an actual bed?” John murmurs.

_____

John can’t go to sleep despite his exhaustion. The sun has already risen in Pakistan but it’s barely 2AM in London.

Everything in the room is unfamiliar: the shape of the windows, the rush of late night cabs driving past, the shadow of furniture against the white walls. The bed is too soft and far too large, even shared with Sherlock.

Sherlock is curled up on his side under the sheets and asleep. He has one leg thrown over John’s knees and his open mouth is pressed against John’s ribs so John feels the warmth of his steady exhale against his skin. John gently strokes his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Sherlock’s neck and looks at him in the dim light pollution that reflects off the clouds and in through the window. He looks at the slant of Sherlock’s cheekbones and the slope of his nose, the dark of his eyelashes against pale skin.

Five years. Five years with the screen of a computer between them. Five years without so much as a holiday or leave. Five years with only the low-resolution of Sherlock’s grainy smile to tide him through. He’d nearly forgotten the smell of Sherlock’s shampoo and the way he continually missed a patch at the back of his jaw while shaving. He’d nearly forgotten the sound of Sherlock’s voice rising in pitch when John pressed into him at just the right angle or the way he squeezed his eyes shut right before he came. Five years to make up for.

John traces mindless patterns against the back of Sherlock’s neck and thinks of a hundred promises that he desperately hopes he can keep.

_____

John must have fallen asleep at some point because he’s dragged back into awareness by a wet heat on his cock.

His hips roll up instinctively and Sherlock’s head pulls back--he hasn’t had enough practice to accommodate all of John just yet. His lubricated fingers slip along the base of John’s cock before he pulls off and slides his fingers across the head, squeezing lightly.

“You’re awake,” Sherlock says as he climbs up towards him, straddling him. John manages a groan in response. It turns into a hiss of pleasure as Sherlock mouths his jaw and reaches back to guide John into him in one fluid movement.

“How much do you think is left in there from last night?” Sherlock’s breath is hot against John’s ear as he rocks against John.

“You’re going to kill me,” John manages just before Sherlock lifts his arse and slides back down.

Sherlock laughs breathlessly and kisses him.

_____

“Don’t touch that,” Sherlock says when John moves toward the multiple piles of papers on the kitchen table.

“Not that either,” Sherlock orders when John turns towards the stack of textbooks on the kitchen counter.

“Is there anything I can touch?”

“Tea,” Sherlock says without taking his eyes from his laptop. He taps at the space bar twice before he adds, “Please.”

John finds the kettle in the cupboard and only one mug without a thick layer of dust at the bottom. He fills the kettle and rinses the cup before turning to look at the papers on the kitchen table.

“The application of quantum theory to algorithm development,” John reads off the top of the pile, “You never mentioned that you were published.”

Sherlock waves a hand. “Don’t read that one. It’s hopelessly outdated.” He types for a few more moments before adding, “Manuscript writing is tedious. I only publish when Mycroft starts complaining about my lack of activity. Completely unjustified, I might mention.”

John thumbs through the article but can barely understand the introductory sentence, much less the equations and flowcharts that follow. The kettle clicks and John puts the article down. “How do you want your tea?”

When John sets Sherlock’s tea next to his arm, he says, “You never fail to astound me, Sherlock,” and kisses the side of his head.

_____

John runs in the morning before Sherlock wakes up. The wet winter air is colder than any of the climates he’d experienced while deployed but he doesn’t wear more than a light jacket. He watches his breath fog in the glow of pre-dawn sunlight.

He finds himself on the City University campus, jogging across the gazebo in Northampton Square with his eyes on the wide building in front of him. The place is deserted and none of the lights are on. He remembers that it’s Christmas holidays.

John comes to a stop as he crosses the street and looks up at the building. His breathing evens out the longer he stands and he slowly becomes aware of the cold. He turns and keeps running.

_____

John sets up the small television that Sherlock had left sitting in its cardboard box while Sherlock commandeers the entire living room table for his multiple monitors--including a 36 inch screen perched dangerously close to the edge of the table.

“Sherlock,” John says after spending a few minutes untangling the cords Sherlock had thrown haphazardly into a box, “I really want to become a doctor.”

Sherlock looks at him but doesn’t say anything as he peels plastic off a monitor.

“I’ve got plenty saved up to support both of us and my sister on top of paying for tuition,” John says, “I thought maybe I could go to school.”

Sherlock smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You should do whatever you’d like.”

_____

He hears about it from the television. John makes coffee and scrambles eggs with the morning news playing solely for background noise. He’s ladling eggs onto two plates with the spatula and waiting for the toaster to pop when he hears the name “Mycroft Holmes” from the news anchor.

The toaster pops. John stares at the television.

Sherlock has his face in a pillow and he’s sprawled across John’s side of the bed when John enters. John shakes Sherlock’s shoulder until Sherlock turns his head towards John and squints up at him.

“Sherlock,” John says, “Your brother just became head of the SIS.”

_____

“My apologies for not having visited earlier,” Mycroft says as he sets his umbrella tip down on the floor and leans against it. Rainwater slides down and pools in the carpet. “I hope you’ve found this flat accommodating. Unfortunately the landlady resides in Florida so reimbursements for maintenance might be delayed.”

John emerges from the kitchen where he’d quickly set some water to boil. “It’s fine,” he says. He crosses his arms but manages a smile at Mycroft. “Congratulations on your new appointment.”

“Actually,” Mycroft says, “That’s partially what I’ve come to discuss today.”

Sherlock snorts but doesn’t look up from his laptop.

“I have a new opportunity for the both of you that I sincerely hope you will take.”

“Don’t,” Sherlock cuts in, “Don’t pretend you haven’t been grooming us for these roles for the last five years.”

Mycroft looks at him.

“What’s this about, then?” John asks.

“Change of personnel,” Sherlock says, “I’m his new Quartermaster. And you’re a new agent.”

“Agent,” John repeats, “What, like the MI6?”

“How long have you been planning this?” Sherlock asks as he rises to his feet, “The war in Afghanistan was a convenient way to make sure John got the field training, was it?”

“Yes, the MI6,” Mycroft says, looking at John.

“You’re kidding,” John says, “I’m not--I haven’t even been to university.”

“You’re less of an idiot than most people,” Sherlock says to John without taking his eyes off Mycroft.

Silence.

“Thank you?” John asks.

“I bet you knew when Vaughan had his first heart attack,” Sherlock says, “I bet you’ve been waiting for his heart to give out ever since.”

“That’s enough, Sherlock.”

“It’s convenient, timing the moment of John’s discharge with your sudden ascension up the bureaucratic ladder.”

Mycroft’s voice takes a new edge. “I said that’s enough, Sherlock.”

Sherlock exhales in a hiss between his teeth. The kettle clicks. John keeps looking at Mycroft. 

“You can’t be serious,” John says.

“I am very serious,” Mycroft replies.

_____

Sherlock shuts off the shower as John brushes his teeth.

“Hand me the towel.”

John shoves the toothbrush into his mouth and pulls the towel from the rack to hand to Sherlock. The mirror steams up even more as Sherlock opens the shower curtains. The water glistens across Sherlock’s chest as he towels his hair and John doesn’t bother to look away.

“Enjoying the view?” Sherlock asks. John grins and turns to spit. He cups water in the palm of his hand to rinse out the foam.

Sherlock wraps the towel around himself. John opens the mirrored cabinet to get the mouthwash.

“So,” John says as he sets the mouthwash on the sink. “You knew when I told you I wanted to go back to school. About Mycroft.”

Sherlock presses himself against John’s back, damp skin against John’s soft shirt. His chin tucks against John’s shoulder. John feels the vibration of Sherlock’s voice as he says, “You can say no.”

John smiles at Sherlock in the slowly clearing mirror. “Just like I’ve said no every other time, right?”

Sherlock slides his fingers up the length of John’s neck, tilts John’s jaw back, and nips at his earlobe before growling, “I can think of other things for you to say.”

_____

“Languages?” the woman across from him asks as she types into the computer.

“English,” John says, and then adds, “I took a bit of French in secondary school.”

“Fluent?”

“Oh god no,” John says. The woman continues to type. John taps his fingers against his knees.

“Anything else?” she asks, looking at him from over the top of her glasses, “Anything you might have picked up on your deployment?”

“Some Urdu,” John says.

“Is that it?”

“Er,” John says, “One more. I can’t remember which one it was, Pashto or Punjabi.”

“You can’t remember,” the woman repeats.

“A tiny bit. Basic conversation at best. I’m better at listening than I am at speaking.”

“Alright,” she drawls and punches it in.

_____

In Pakistan, John had once been ordered to retrieve and detain a known terrorist who had been hiding in his home village in the Karakoram mountain range. They were a day and a half from Islamabad and barely had enough petrol for the return trip when his team of eight finally found the village tucked between two peaks, by the banks of a lake.

John remembers hearing the crunch of their tires against dirt, remembers the empty houses and dark fire pits. John remembers bursting into the target house with his gun drawn and shouting in English--remembers the fetid stench and the dark shapes on the floor. Shadows in his periphery. He looked down and felt the urge to be sick.

Half eaten bodies with their entrails pulled out. Someone fired a shot and there was the sudden yelp of a wild dog. John covered his nose and walked deeper into the house, gun drawn and his shouted demands muffled behind his hand.

There was a little girl with a pale blue ribbon in her hair and a bullet hole in her forehead. John memorized the shape of the blood spilled into the dusty floor behind her head with a single glance.

It looks like the inkblot the psychiatrist is showing him now.

“Wild dog,” he says steadily.

_____

John stares at the array of guns and starts to feel comfortable for the first time since he’d arrived in Hampshire that morning. This is something he actually knows. He gravitates towards a Browning and picks it up when the examiner enters the room. He drops it back onto the table.

“Military, are you?” the examiner asks.

“Yes, sir,” John says, resisting the urge to throw a salute.

“Pick it up then,” the examiner says as he clips a paper target onto the line. He puts a pair of earmuffs on and gives John the thumbs up sign.

John picks up the gun again. It’s a touch heavier than the standard issue he had carried for years but the grip is familiar in his hands. He lifts it and looks down the sight.

The first shot hits the white over the target’s left shoulder. John readjusts his grip and looks down the sight again. He compensates for the list of the gun and shoots again.

The second shot hits the target’s forehead. The third shot hits the heart.

_____

John leans his head against the back of the bath and tries to relax. His closes his eyes and breathes in steam.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep but he jolts back into alertness when the bathroom door opens. Sherlock steps in and closes the door behind him.

“You could knock,” John points out.

“Dull,” Sherlock says and unbuttons his shirt. John keeps his eyes on Sherlock’s hand as Sherlock nears the bath.

“Are you joining me?”

“In a moment,” Sherlock says. He slips the shirt off his shoulders and lets it drop from his fingertips onto the plush mat. He pulls off his socks and drops them onto the floor too.

“Come here,” John says. Sherlock tilts his head but obliges. John unbuckles Sherlock’s belt and pulls it from the loops. It looks absurdly expensive so John tosses it a bit farther from the side of the bath. He unzips Sherlock’s trousers, smoothing the palm of his hand along Sherlock’s cock before tugging the trousers down. He’s leaving wet handprints on everything.

John looks up at Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s lips are parted and he’s staring at John.

John hooks his fingers beneath the top of Sherlock’s briefs and slides them slowly down his thighs. He brushes the head of Sherlock’s cock with the inside of his pinkie, follows a vein with the pad of his thumb. Sherlock lets out a shivering breath.

John smiles and pulls his hand away. He leans back as Sherlock steps out of his underwear and into the bath. Sherlock settles in front of him, folding his long legs. He leans back against John, curls against the crook of John’s neck. The bath is hard against John’s back but it’ll be a while before the discomfort will force him to move.

“Tired?” John asks as Sherlock closes his eyes.

“Of idiots,” Sherlock mumbles. John smoothes his hands down Sherlock’s sides beneath the water before he starts to trace each individual rib. He traces his thumb in a circle around Sherlock’s belly button and drops a kiss into Sherlock’s hair, loosely linking his hands over Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock puts his hands on top of John’s and strokes the inside of John’s thumb with a finger.

When the water is cool instead of lukewarm, John pulls his hands out from under Sherlock’s and pushes at his hips. Sherlock obligingly sits up and John fits himself to Sherlock’s back. He puts his mouth on the damp skin at the corner of Sherlock’s neck and slides his hand down Sherlock’s stomach raking his nails lightly through the nest of pubic hair before fisting his hand around Sherlock’s cock. He presses teeth against the skin of Sherlock’s shoulder as he starts to move.

Sherlock breath hitches and his hips roll towards John’s hand when John tightens his fist. John presses his mouth to Sherlock’s neck, right below the ear. Sherlock turns toward John, his panting breaths hot against the top of John’s head as he squirms. John can feel him tensing with a choked whine and he sucks hard on Sherlock’s skin just as Sherlock comes.

He works Sherlock down with a soft slide of his tongue and a kiss against his ear. Sherlock’s breathing slowly returns to normal.

“No clean up,” John mumbles against Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock laughs and pulls away to haul himself out of the bath. John lets the water drain. His toes are wrinkly.

He steps up behind Sherlock who is towelling himself dry and looking in the mirror. He kisses Sherlock’s spine and wraps the other towel around himself.

“This is going to bruise,” Sherlock says, tapping the side of his neck. He meets John’s eyes in the mirror and smiles. “Good.”

_____

“I’m leaving for London tonight,” Sherlock says when they meet up for lunch in between dragging lectures on the proper procedure on diffusing hostile situations. Sherlock’s in a room on the other side of the training facility. He sets half of his saran wrapped sandwich on a massive binder of radio frequency protocols and crams the other half in his mouth.

“I thought Mycroft booked us at the hotel through next Thursday?”

“The imbeciles here could hardly teach me anything I don’t already know,” Sherlock says, “Mycroft wants me back early to set up my workstation.”

John feels a little pathetic for how disappointed he feels. “So I won’t see you until next week then?”

“One week, five years,” Sherlock says as he steals John’s bag of crisps, “I think we’ve had plenty of practice.” He smirks as he opens the bag. “Pity you didn’t bring your laptop. We could have Skyped.”

John rolls his eyes and shoves his hand into the bag to get at the crisps before Sherlock can. “Yeah, I’ll miss you too, you idiot.”

_____

The documentation for reporting field missions is exactly like every after-action report he'd ever submitted to his superiors. He spends most of the lecture staring blankly at the PowerPoint slides the presenter continuously refers to. He wonders how he’s going to explain to Harry that he’s switched from one dangerous job to another.

Mycroft promised to provide for her until she graduated university and found a suitable career, but financial stability and family are far from the same thing. If John died, Harry would have no one left.

_____

The night before John had shipped off to Afghanistan for his first tour of duty, he and Sherlock had spent the night with their foreheads pressed together. Sherlock’s fingertips left bruises on the back of John’s neck as he whispered the same words again and again: “You have to die after me, you have to die after me.”

Sherlock wouldn’t let go of his hand until they reached the end of the security line. The security guard asked three times if Sherlock had a boarding pass before Sherlock finally stepped back to let John go ahead.

_____

During the day, he thinks about his deployments while they run through textbook scenarios. He effortlessly outscores his fellow trainees at target practice and physical training. One instructor pulls him aside to tell him that he has real potential and that he could recommend him to a good team. When John tells him his name, the instructor’s smile slips away and he says, “One of M’s new men, are you?” John doesn’t know how to respond so he doesn’t answer.

At night, the hotel bed feels empty without Sherlock curled up against him. John lies on his back and stares up at the dark ceiling. Three weeks to break John’s five years of celibacy and John is already craving Sherlock’s hungry stare and soft skin. He already misses pressing so closely to Sherlock that he feels like he’s going to crawl into Sherlock’s heartbeat and settle there forever.

_____

He visits Vauxhall for the first time two hours after arriving back in London by cab. Mycroft greets him at the front doors and hands him an ID. They’ve used one of his military photographs--his cheeks are sunburned and he’s wearing camouflage that isn’t visible in the frame of the shot.

“Temporary until we get you properly situated,” Mycroft says as John takes it.

“Couldn’t have a minion hand this off?” John asks, clipping it to the pocket of his suit.

“I need your help actually,” Mycroft admits.

“Well then,” John says, “Lead the way to Sherlock.”

_____

“Should have known better than to give him unfettered access to SIS files,” John says as they walk down the hall, “Tell me he’s at least had something to eat since he’s arrived.”

“I wouldn’t say coffee counts,” Mycroft replies, pausing to sign a form that an agent thrusts in front of him. “We’ve tried to keep him away. My brother seems to have acquired the skill of picking conventional locks at the same time he learned how to write security software.”

“So much for your fingerprint scanning technology,” John says, grinning.

“Make him go home, John,” Mycroft says. 

John looks at him. There are more lines on his face than John remembers from years ago. His hair is going prematurely grey at the temples.

Mycroft sighs. “Make him eat something. Make him sleep.”

_____

John knocks on the office door. Someone shouts, “Go away!” from behind the door but John opens it anyway.

“Mycroft says you’ve been in here for ages,” John says and wrinkles his nose at the smell, “Jesus Sherlock, when was the last time you had a shower?”

“Busy,” Sherlock says at a more reasonable volume this time, “Go away.”

“How many of these have you been drinking?” John asks as he starts pushing the various drained cans of energy drink and half empty foam coffee cups into one corner of the desk. “Do we have to have a talk about how caffeine is not a suitable substitute for real food?”

“Okay,” Sherlock says and doesn’t stop typing.

“And you’re not even listening,” John says as he pours all the cold coffee into one cup and tosses the extra cups into the bin.

“Okay,” Sherlock repeats, peering up at the screen to his left.

“I’m going to unplug everything,” John announces.

“I’m working on a laptop,” Sherlock replies.

“Can’t you work on it at home?”

“No reason,” Sherlock says, “John isn’t home.”

He stops typing. And actually looks up at John.

“Well then,” John says.

_____

Sherlock slams John into the wall the moment they get to the flat and kisses him. John runs his hands up Sherlock’s back and tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s hair when Sherlock suddenly pulls away and says, “I need a laptop.”

John lets the back of his head hit the door as Sherlock bounds up the stairs. “And a shower,” he calls after Sherlock.

_____

John finds the circuit breaker in the basement and refuses to turn the electricity back on until Sherlock has showered. Sherlock gets as far as to wrapping a towel around himself and drips on the wooden chair as he types at his laptop without putting any clothes on.

John sets a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich next to Sherlock’s hand. He looks down at Sherlock. “Aren’t you cold?”

Sherlock reaches for the tea. John moves the sandwich plate up so that it blocks Sherlock’s way. Sherlock scowls at him but picks up the sandwich. John watches him put it in his mouth and chew before setting the plate down and heading to the bedroom.

“Here,” he says as he returns and tosses Sherlock’s bathrobe at him. Sherlock makes no attempt at catching it so it falls to the floor. John throws the briefs at his head where it bounces off and drops onto Sherlock’s shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous,” John tells him as he turns to unpack in the bedroom. “I’m not going to take you to hospital if you die of pneumonia.”

_____

Sherlock scowls at the security guard who tells him to put his laptop through the x-ray machine but sets his bag on the conveyor belt anyway. John puts his keys and belt into a plastic container and steps through the metal detector.

“Q,” someone calls as Sherlock collects his laptop. Sherlock straightens. A dark haired man with a smile approaches them near the lift.

“Nine,” Sherlock acknowledges.

“And you must be Seven,” the man says to John. He holds out a hand for John to shake. Seven?

“Yes,” Sherlock says before John can answer. The man’s grip is harder than John expected from his soft voice.

“We might be seeing more of each other, Seven,” Nine says, “We might even be going on missions together.”

“I can’t wait,” John says, attempting a smile. Nine smiles slowly before he lets go of John’s hand.

“I’ll drop by in your office later, Q,” Nine says and gets into a lift going down, “Pleasure meeting you, Seven.”

The door slides shut.

“Senior field agent,” Sherlock says, “He’s interesting. Smarter than the rest of these imbeciles anyway.”

“Don’t let the rest of us imbeciles hear you.”

Sherlock just looks at him as a lift going up arrives. A few people exit, including a woman who looks at him and asks, “John?”

“Yeah,” John says.

The woman turns towards Sherlock, “I trust you know how to get to your office?”

Sherlock doesn’t dignify her question with a response, just steps into the lift. The woman looks back at John, “I’m supposed to take you to M for a brief orientation.”

“Great,” John says, following her onto the lift, “Lead the way.”

_____

Mycroft slides a folder towards John. “I thought I’d put you back in familiar territory.”

John picks the folder up but doesn’t open it. “Pakistan?”

“Not a city you’ve already visited. You and Nine are going in together. He’s done this many times before. He’ll mentor you through your first mission at least.”

“Okay,” John says, thinking back to the man’s unsettling smile.

“John,” Mycroft says. He looks at the closed office door and then at the window. He unplugs the phone on his desk and gestures for John to sit. John lowers himself into a chair.

“Sherlock was right,” Mycroft says, “I encouraged you to join the army because I knew I wanted both you and Sherlock to join me here one day.”

John sets his arms on the armrests and looks out the window, licking his lips. He looks back at Mycroft, shaking his head minutely.

“I don’t deny that I’m an ambitious man, John,” Mycroft continues, “But in this case it was an issue of national security rather than my own self interest.”

“Great,” John says, setting the folder back on Mycroft’s desk and leaning forward, “I can’t wait to hear your justification.”

“Seven years I discovered an interesting discrepancy between reports available in the SIS archives and reports sent overseas decades ago as part of CIA liaisons with the United States. Five months after that, I noticed a pattern in the level of terror activity in certain geographic areas correlating with files that had been wiped from the SIS servers.”

“And you didn’t bring this up with the previous head?”

“Oh, I did,” Mycroft says, folding his hands on the desk, “He did nothing about it.”

“He’s gone now,” John says, “But you think there’s still a security leak.”

“I know there’s still a security leak.”

John looks down at the folder. He doesn’t know if he’s completely unsurprised or just can’t muster up the energy to be surprised.

“I only have two agents I know I can trust.”

“Okay,” John says, looking up at Mycroft. “Well then. I’m sure you have suspects.”

“I’m not certain,” Mycroft says, “I certainly have a shortlist. But until we can narrow it down, consider everyone a suspect. In a few weeks we can reconvene with Sherlock and see if we all come up with the same names.”

“This is more than I signed up for,” John says, “Bloody hell, I didn’t even sign up for this.”

“I know I’m asking for a lot.”

“Just so we’re clear.” John keeps his eyes locked with Mycroft’s. “You’re asking me to spy on people ten or twenty years my senior. Not even people. MI6 agents. Who are also spies.”

“They won’t take you as seriously as I do. If anything goes wrong, I’ll pull you immediately.”

John laughs, once.

Mycroft leans forward. “But nothing will go wrong. I’ll make sure of it, John.”

_____

Nine meets him in the conference room to go over their upcoming mission in Karachi. There’s also a pair of intelligence officers fiddling with a laptop and projecting a map of the region onto the screen at the front of the room. 

“Am I late?” John asks as he closes the door.

“Not at all,” Nine says, smiling at him. He kicks out a chair on the other side of the table from him. “Please.”

John takes a seat and looks at the map. One of the intelligence officers clears his throat. He nods at Nine. “Nine.”

Nine nods and they both look at John. “You must be the new guy,” the officer says, “Seven?”

“Yeah.” John scoots closer to the table, opening the folder that Mycroft had given him earlier.

“I worked with your predecessor,” the officer says, “Good man.”

John smiles. He wishes they would look somewhere else.

“Right so,” the officer looks up at the screen, “Karachi. Standard round of checking in with the local recruits. We’re headquartered in the US consulate general.” He circles flags on the map with a laser pointer as he speaks. “We’ve got a few recruits in North Karachi and several in DHA housing. Just dropping in to see if they have anything new to tell us, then we’re out again. Pretty easy and straightforward.” He looks from John to Nine before adding, “Nine’s done this a fair number of times so you two shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“But there’s always the danger of something unexpected happening,” Nine says.

“Which is why we have contingency plans,” the officer says and sets a tablet PC down in front of John.

_____

“Wild animal attack,” John says as he flips to the next page of the document with a swipe of his finger, “Are there a lot of bears in Karachi then?”

“Urban wild dogs run in packs,” Sherlock says as he crawls into bed and nudges his head under John’s arm. “Better read it.” He peers at the page that John’s reading. John’s put the text on its largest size but his eyes still feel dried out as he commits line after line to some form of hazy memory.

Sherlock presses his nose against John’s chest and John sets his chin in Sherlock’s hair. After a few moments, Sherlock says, “Next page.”

“I’m not done reading this page.”

“You read at an abysmal pace.”

“Shut up, Sherlock,” John says and spends another minute on the page solely to annoy him. Sherlock moves his arm across John’s stomach and shifts so that he’s half sprawled across John. John lifts the tablet so that Sherlock’s giant head isn’t blocking it.

“What if I can’t breathe?” John asks but he doesn’t have any real intention of telling Sherlock to move.

Sherlock tightens his hold on John and his voice is muffled against John’s shirt when he speaks. “You can breathe fine.” John drops one hand into his hair and turns the pages with a swipe of his thumb.

Eventually Sherlock’s breathing slows down and evens out. John keeps stroking Sherlock’s hair and reads on.

_____

“Gun,” Sherlock says, holding out John’s preferred Browning. “It’s programmed to recognize only your palm to shoot so it’s expensive. Don’t be idiotic enough to lose it or it’s coming out of your pay for the next five years.”

John grins and slips out the magazine to check the ammunition before clicking it back into place. He holsters it at the small of his back.

“Radio,” Sherlock says, holding up a tiny metal box. “Click it on and it’ll transmit your location. Battery lasts for three days.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t get into a situation where you have to use it.”

“He’ll be with me the entire time,” Nine says, stepping over as he holsters his own gun. “I wouldn’t worry at all.” He smiles at Sherlock. “I’m very good.”

A woman steps into the doorway. “Agents, your transport is ready.”

John looks at Sherlock. He wants to hug him, press his face into his neck, kiss him goodbye. Instead he takes the radio and lets his fingertips brush against the palm of Sherlock’s hand. It has to be enough.

“I’ll see you in a couple days,” John says.

_____

“So you and the quartermaster,” Nine says when they’re flying over continental Europe in the military jet. He has to shout a little over the whine of the engine. “I’m assuming you’re involved?”

“We’re close,” John says back and can’t bring himself to finish the sentence with the word _friends_. He’s glad that they’re the only two people in the compartment.

“How did you two meet?”

“School,” John answers, “Secondary school.”

“Not many people stay in touch for that long,” Nine says, “You must be very close.”

John nods.

Nine smiles at him.

_____

It’s warm and humid when they step off the plan at Jinnah International--a vast change from February in London. The drizzling rain never evolves into full drops as he and Nine make their way across the airfield and into the building.

“We’ll go out the front,” Nine says, “Catch a cab to the consulate.”

Most of the signs are in both Urdu and English and he recognizes some of the words. He’s always considered England as his home but the smell of cumin and turmeric sweeps him straight back into the last four years. He hasn’t had a decent chaat in ages.

Maybe he’ll bring Sherlock here one day. Show him that it wasn’t bad at all.

_____

They meet the first man in a busy marketplace. John sees him before Nine does and touches Nine’s arm to get his attention. They both watch the man look around the crowd before hurrying away in the opposite direction. Nine glances back at John before he starts threading his way through the crowd. John loses track of the man once or twice but Nine moves forward with confidence.

They wind up in an alleyway lit only by the glow of the overcast sky in the tiny space between the two buildings. Clotheslines hang from balcony to balcony, soft music playing from an open window. Nine scans down the side of each building before saying, “This way,” and ducking into one of the open doors. He swipes his palm against the wall and John realizes that they’re following chalk marks.

They go up the stairs and Nine swipes his hand against the wall every so often. On the third floor, there’s a chalk mark next to a door. Nine rubs it away and knocks.

The man opens it. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead but he smiles. “Come in,” he says in Urdu and peers around the edge of the door.

“No one followed us,” Nine assures him. The man smiles nervously and steps back. Both John and Nine take off their shoes before entering. Nine crosses the room and flicks back the curtain to look at the alleyway.

“Better than what I had last time, isn’t it?” the man says, “I’d offer you tea but I hope you won’t be here for very long. I hope you can forgive my rudeness.”

“Understandable,” Nine says and gestures to John. “This is my colleague, Seven. You might be reporting to him in the future.”

John inclines his head and smiles. The man smiles back, but only for a moment before he turns to Nine.

“There’s a shipment of explosives headed for Muscat in two days. I don’t know for sure but I think it came from Russia.”

“Uranium?” Nine asks.

“I think so.”

“Have you checked?”

The man laughs. “They won’t let me near the cargo any more.” He glances at John again as he says, “And there’s one more thing.”

They wait for the man to go on. But he looks between Nine and John before finally settling on John and saying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust him yet.”

“He’s with me,” Nine says.

“I know,” the man says, “I’m sorry but I’m not going to talk in front of him.”

Nine keeps his eyes on the man but he says, “If you could step outside for a moment, Seven.”

John collects his shoes and closes the door after him. He presses his ear to the door but they’re speaking too quietly for him to hear anything. John looks up the hallway and down the stairs. Someone is playing music loudly in one of the flats.

The door opens a few minutes later. Nine steps out and nods. They leave.

_____

“It’s going to be hard at first,” Nine says after they’ve reconnected with three local recruits and relayed the information back to Vauxhall. “They won’t trust you until they know you’re actually who you say you are.”

He’s peeling an apple with a knife on a couch in the US General Consulate. John sits at the table and types up the after action reports.

“So much of this job is about trust,” Nine says and finishes peeling the apple in one long strand of skin. He looks up at John as he flicks the knife shut and smiles.

_____

They’re sitting in the lobby waiting for a domestic plane back to London when Nine says, “Not as glamorous as you expected, was it?”

John looks at him. Nine brushes his hands down his suit jacket and puts the ankle of his right foot on his left knee. He smiles at John. “Not quite the same as the movies make it out to be.”

“Haven’t had time for movies in a while,” John says.

A woman speaks over the intercom. John can’t tell what she’s saying through the heavy dialect and static. He doesn’t look away from Nine.

“You’re interesting,” Nine says, “Surely you didn’t have to devote your life to becoming an MI6 agent to catch Q’s eye?”

John knows that it’s foolish but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “Who says I had to join the MI6 to do it?”

“So you _are_ involved,” Nine says and puts a hand over his mouth. His eyes crinkle at the edges as he speaks from behind his fingers. “I have a bit of a reputation for being a bit nosy. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

John looks at the airfield through the window. A plane is landing.

“Was he your first?” Nine asks after a moment.

John shoots him a sharp look. “That’s rather personal.”

“Sorry,” Nine says and falls silent again.

_____

It isn’t until much later, when they’re about to land in London that Nine brings it up again.

“Look,” he says, apropos of nothing, “You might not want to hear it but I feel obligated to tell you. I was in a long-term relationship with someone like Q once. We’d known each other for years. He was a bit abrasive but certainly a proper genius. It didn’t end well.”

John turns his head from where he’d been staring at the blinking red lights on the wingtips of the plane.

“He got bored of me,” Nine says, “Found him cheating on me barely a week from our two year anniversary.”

John looks at the pocket of the seat in front of him.

“I’m not saying that it’s definitely going to happen,” Nine continues, “I don’t know how long you two have been together. It’s just that you have a lot of potential as an agent and I thought you deserved the warning at least.”

“Thanks,” John says, even though he doesn’t mean it at all.

_____

“Are you going to do this every time?” John demands as he throws away the empty cans of energy drink and tries to rearrange the warzone that has become Sherlock’s desk. Sherlock takes his time in exiting each program, pausing to scroll up through lines of unfathomable equations before they’re finally all gone.

“Home?” Sherlock asks and pulls on his coat. John ties his scarf for him.

_____

“Shower first,” John says when they get back to their flat, which is why he’s sucking Sherlock’s cock with the shower water beating down on him. Sherlock has his head tilted back against the tile, mouth open with the water sluicing down his chest. John breathes slowly through his nose in effort not to inhale too much water and starts to move with one hand fisted at the base of Sherlock’s cock.

He tries to take as much of it as he can but he chokes before he can get very far. He pulls back with his saliva mixing in with the shower water and breathes in through his mouth before trying again. He’ll have to work on his gag reflex.

Sherlock pushes his fingers through John’s hair and murmurs something encouraging that John can’t make out over the ring of the water. John presses his tongue against the head, his cheeks hollowing with the effort of sucking and Sherlock’s hips jerk.

Later, Sherlock gives John a handjob while he stands at the kitchen stove but they manage to salvage dinner.

_____

John goes through the mess on the kitchen table and starts binning old adverts and newspapers when he sees the post-it stuck on the back of an envelope. John pulls it off and reads it as he wanders into the living room.

“Did Harry call?”

Sherlock plucks at his violin, sprawled out on the couch. He plucks another few notes before John prompts, “Sherlock?”

“You were in Karachi. She wants to visit this weekend.”

“Is that okay?”

Sherlock plays another two notes. And then he says, “I don’t mind.”

“I’ll call her back then,” John says as he crumples up the post-it.

_____

The train from Glasgow is half an hour late. Sherlock’s bored of deducing the arriving passengers so he’s moved on to doing god knows what on his phone. John crosses his arms and keeps stepping forward to peer down the rails in hopes of seeing a train.

Eventually Sherlock must get sick of John’s pacing because he grabs John’s hand with his gloved one and doesn’t let go. John laces their fingers together. Sherlock doesn’t look up from his phone.

_____

“Sorry!” Harry says as she runs towards them the moment she steps off the train and onto the platform, “I didn’t think it would be this late.”

“It’s pretty much a rule of the universe,” John says, grinning, “All trains have to be late.” Harry flings herself into his arms and hugs him tightly. They hold on for a long moment before she pulls away and hugs Sherlock too. Sherlock pats her back and meets John’s eyes with a smile.

“Did you have lunch on the train?” John asks.

“No,” Harry says, pulling away from Sherlock and readjusting the bag across her shoulders. “I’m starving. Can we get Thai?”

_____

John opens the door to the upstairs room and walks in to open the curtains. “I just replaced the sheets this morning. It’s not much of a view but you’re just going to be sleeping here, yeah?”

Harry drops her overnight bag at the foot of the bed and flops onto it. “It’s great. Thanks.”

John sits on the bed next to her. He smoothes out a wrinkle in the sheets and swallows before saying, “Look Harry, I’m really sorry I haven’t--”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Harry interrupts.

“I wanted to come see you,” John says, “We haven’t had any Christmases together and that’s all my fault.”

“Seriously John? It’s not your fault,” Harry says, rolling over onto her side to look at him, “Why would you think it was?”

John doesn’t know how to answer. He picks at a stray thread instead.

“Sherlock was always furious though.” Harry grins. “He always made a point of hacking as many domestic servers as possible on Christmas so Mycroft was stuck at work.”

“Mad idiot,” John says and can’t suppress a smile. Harry giggles and the two of them erupt into laughter.

“Sherlock visited me up in Glasgow a couple of times,” Harry says when they’ve stopped.

“Really?” John asks. He can’t imagine Sherlock willingly leaving his computer for an extended period of time.

“John,” Harry says, sitting up. “I want to go back.”

“To Glasgow?”

“No.” She bites her lip and looks away before looking back at him. “Back to our old house.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Harry says, “I’ve always wanted to go back, just to see, but I didn’t ever want to go back without you.”

“I don’t know,” John says slowly.

“Please,” Harry implores, “It would me a lot to me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I think I really just need closure. And I think it would help.”

She looks like she’s on the verge of crying. John can’t say no.

_____

Sherlock sits at the kitchen table, scribbling Greek letters across a legal pad. He scowls and crosses out a swath of equations before tearing the entire page out of the pad and crumpling it up.

John puts his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and leans down to speak next to his ear. “Ready for a road trip?”

_____

Sherlock navigates London traffic with a minimal amount of road rage, though he does scowl at cars that don’t go fast enough. John grins at Harry in the side mirror. It’s strange how much younger he feels just by sitting in the passenger seat and watching Sherlock tap the steering wheel when they stop at traffic lights. Bach plays softly through the speakers.

They drive an hour away from London before the scenery starts to become more familiar. The snow starts to pick up and Sherlock turns up the heat. Harry stares out the window and doesn’t move.

They pull off the motorway and into their old town. The sun is setting. Sherlock reaches over to shut off the music. Nobody speaks.

They drive past the building of their old school. Sherlock slows down momentarily but doesn’t turn in through the gates. They drive down the road towards Harry’s school--the same path they took for years. John notices belatedly how hard he’s gripping the armrest on the door. He forces himself to relax.

“Nothing has changed,” Harry says, still looking out the window. Nobody replies. Sherlock makes a slow circuit of the road around her school and John knows where they’re going next. He shuts his eyes.

Sherlock makes two left turns before slowing the car to a stop.

“Wow,” Harry says, “It looks exactly the same.”

John keeps his eyes closed and focuses on keeping his breathing calm. There’s a waft of cold air as Harry climbs out of the car but Sherlock stays in the driver’s seat. 

John really ought to get out too, to make sure his sister didn’t do anything stupid like try to break into the house. He lets out a breath and opens his eyes. He opens the door and steps outside before he can change his mind.

The house is shabbier than John remembers. There’s a sign in the overgrown front lawn with a smiling realtor declaring the house to be foreclosed property. Harry is nowhere to be seen.

John walks up the driveway towards the front door. He hears Sherlock open and shut the car door. John stops on the porch and stares at the tape on the broken window--the one that the man had thrown a brick through.

It feels like something is forcing all the air out of his chest, and he has to struggle to breathe. He takes a stumbling step back and someone catches him by the elbow, wraps an arm around his shoulder. John blindly turns towards Sherlock, pushes his face into Sherlock’s coat. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, “This is really stupid, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Sherlock murmurs, holding him more tightly. John squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in the winter wind and coffee scent of Sherlock’s coat, his heart beating far too quickly.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been standing there when Sherlock says, “Get in the car,” quietly. He thinks for a moment that Sherlock’s talking to him but then there are the crunch of footsteps in snow and the sound of the car door shutting. He pulls away from Sherlock, and wipes the back of his sleeve against his traitorous eyes.

Sherlock looks at him and he refuses to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “Let’s leave,” John says and moves toward the car.

_____

Sherlock drives. The snow is coming down harder now, bright white in the glare of the headlights.

“I’m really sorry John,” Harry says. Her voice is small and she looks scared.

“It’s not your fault,” John assures her.

Sherlock reaches around the gear shift and holds John’s hand.

_____

The motorway going back to London is packed with cars. Thick flakes fall so fast that Sherlock has to put the windshield wipers on top speed.

“We should spend the night here,” Sherlock says, “John?”

“Yeah, that’s all right,” John says, looking out the window.

_____

The long driveway of the Holmes estate is covered in a thick layer of snow. John looks at the row of trees and remembers when he used to bike here.

“Your parents won’t mind?” John asks, looking over at Sherlock.

“They’re in France,” Sherlock says and pulls his hand away from John’s to set the car in park. He gets out of the car. Harry and John follow suit. It’s become colder since they were last outside. John tucks his chin into the collar of his coat.

Sherlock sorts through his keys as he walks towards the front doors. Harry stares up at the mansion as she follows. John stands next to the car for a few more moments, looking out across the grounds. He scoops up a handful of snow from the top of the car. It’s the perfect consistency for making a snowball so he does.

“John?” Sherlock’s at the edge of the porch, looking at him. A warm light spills from the partially cracked front door.

The snowball leaves John’s hand before he even thinks about it. It hits Sherlock in the stomach. John grins as Sherlock narrows his eyes.

Sherlock moves fluidly and John finds himself tackled into a snowdrift. Sherlock shoves snow down his shirt and John should be able to push him off easily but he’s too busy swearing at Sherlock and laughing too hard.

And then Sherlock kisses him softly in between laughs and John is hit with the weight of how much he loves Sherlock Holmes, terrifying and beautiful all at once. A half sob gets stuck in his throat and he presses closer, hand at the back of Sherlock’s neck in sudden desperate attempt to convey everything he can’t articulate.

Sherlock strokes his face with a gloved hand. The snow drifts into Sherlock’s hair, onto his eyelashes, and their shared breath turns into mist in the dark. The frozen ground is cold against the back of John’s head.

“Come on,” Sherlock murmurs as he pulls away. He holds out a hand. John takes it and hauls himself back up to his feet.

_____

John dumps more wood into the fire. Harry’s settled into an armchair with one of Sherlock’s old books. Sherlock comes back into the room with crackers and some absurdly expensive cheese in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Nothing in the fridge,” he says, dropping the food on the coffee table and setting the wine down. “There’s a few cans of beans in the pantry. John?”

“Spends his free time hacking through bank security but can’t operate a stove.” John says but follows Sherlock to the kitchen.

_____

John wakes up when Sherlock pulls the blanket off him and crawls on top of him. The fire has burned down to a few glowing embers and the house is dark. They’re crowded on the couch, Sherlock’s breath against his cheek.

“You’re like a giant invasive cat,” John whispers, shifting so that he can breathe a bit better. “Are you planning to sleep here then?”

“Eventually,” Sherlock murmurs back. John feels Sherlock’s hands wandering down his stomach before slipping under the elastic band of the pyjamas Sherlock had let him borrow.

“Sherlock,” John hisses, “My sister is right there.”

“So you’ll have to be very quiet,” Sherlock whispers and kisses John’s cheek. He runs his palm down John’s cock and licks the side of John’s neck. John thinks about voicing another protest but then Sherlock fists his hand around his cock and starts to stroke. His other hand slides up John’s shirt and thumbs at a nipple.

John’s hips move of their own volition and he bites back a moan, tilting his head to give Sherlock more access. Sherlock puts his mouth on a pulse point and sucks briefly before running his tongue over the heated skin. The sensation goes straight to John’s cock but he manages not to whimper.

Sherlock strokes faster and runs his hand up and down John’s side before settling again at his nipple, rubbing circles. Pleasure collects in John’s spine until he’s pulled over the edge and spills into Sherlock’s hand. He can’t restrain the tiny whimper that escapes him--and then Sherlock’s kissing him, stealing the silent sounds from his mouth.

_____

“Retrieval mission,” Mycroft says, putting a folder down in front of him, “One of our recruits in Baghdad thinks she’s in danger so we’re bringing her back to London.”

John flips it open and looks at the first page. Hadiya Santi smiles at him from the photograph attached to the paperwork.

“You’ll be working with Five this time. He’s another senior agent.”

John nods and shuts the folder as he looks back up at Mycroft.

“Any questions or concerns?”

It takes John a moment to answer. “No.”

_____

Sherlock drops by his cubicle later in the afternoon while he’s reading through a binder the intelligence analysts put together for him. He takes a seat on John’s desk and takes a drink of his cold coffee before saying, “I need you to teach me how to shoot a gun.”

John looks up at him, “And why’s that?”

“I’m coming to Baghdad too,” Sherlock says, “This coffee is disgusting by the way.”

“Why do you think there’s so much left?” John asks and opens a drawer in his desk. He dumps the binder in and locks it before getting up, “Basement, then?”

_____

John adjusts Sherlock’s stance, pushes his feet farther apart and re-angles his shoulders. He lifts Sherlock’s arms slightly so he’s aiming straight at the target. “When you shoot, the gun is going to jump in your hand. Stand tense enough so it won’t catch you unawares but if you’re too tense, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Sherlock relaxes fractionally. John puts Sherlock’s earmuffs on for him before stepping back and putting his own on. Sherlock shoots. It hits the paper target in the upper left corner. Sherlock aims again and shoots. It hits the target through the shoulder. Sherlock narrows his eyes and tries again. It goes over the shoulder.

“It takes time,” John shouts in effort to be heard.

Sherlock finishes the clip. Out of nine shots, one makes it through the head, near the ear. He hands the gun back to John, ripping his earmuffs off his head

“Pretty good for someone who’s never touched a gun,” John says. Sherlock scowls at him.

“Try again?” John asks, reloading the gun.

“Show me,” Sherlock says, gesturing. John clips a new paper target up. Sherlock watches as John steadies himself and aims.

His shot goes through the target’s forehead.

_____

It’s not the first time that John’s noticed Nine hanging out in Sherlock’s office. But it’s the first time that he’s noticed how closely he stands behind Sherlock, the way that his hand rests on the back of Sherlock’s chair.

John knocks once on the open door. They both look up at him. “M’s looking for you,” John says to Sherlock.

Sherlock goes back to typing. Nine keeps looking at John and he’s smiling. He doesn’t move away from Sherlock and John doesn’t feel inclined to move from the door.

He keeps his eyes locked with Nine’s as he adds, “Preferably soon.”

“Fine,” Sherlock grumbles and swipes his mouse across his desk. Nine slowly straightens as Sherlock rounds the desk and hurries out past John without a backwards glance at the two of them.

“Just having a friendly chat,” Nine says, “He’s really very smart.”

“I know,” John says.

“Never met anyone with his level of talent for technology.”

“I know,” John repeats. He’s not going to leave Nine alone in Sherlock’s office.

“You’re very lucky,” Nine says and smiles. He must get the hint because he finally makes a move towards the door.

“I know,” John says as Nine passes him.

_____

Sherlock has his eyes shut and his fingers tap on his knee repeatedly as they fly over the Mediterranean. John wants to pull him close and stroke the back of his neck but it’s not an option.

Five watches the two of them. He’s black and taller than John expected at first glance, with a jagged scar right along his jawline. He’s reminded of a legendary sniper with a scar on his jaw he’d heard about once in the army, but it’d be stupid to bring it up.

“You going to be okay?” Five asks. Sherlock opens his eyes and scowls.

“They have anti-nausea pills in the cockpit,” Five says.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock snaps back. John half wants to apologize for Sherlock’s behavior.

“Better get used to it, mate,” Five says and he’s smiling, “You’re going to be flying a hell of a lot more in this job.”

_____

They send out a car to Baghdad International. The driver speaks in Arabic at first but after noticing that only Five responds, switches over to accented English. “I’m glad they sent you,” he says as makes his way through the pedestrians crossing the street and milling in the middle of the road. “Our system has been running slow for a couple of weeks. Some of the files we send do not get to their destination. We’ve been worried about that our encryption program has a bug.”

“I hope you haven’t sent any correspondence since you discovered the problem,” Sherlock says, “Especially given the security clearance here.”

The driver smiles at him in the rearview mirror. “We’ve operated fine under much worse conditions.”

_____

Sherlock gets drawn into the server room at the UK Embassy, which he declares to be a “complete disaster” and forces everyone out to reorganize the cables and sort through the software which he already declares as “utterly obsolete” without even looking at it. John and Five end up on the roof where Five smokes a cigarette and John stares out across the rooftops of the Green Zone and thinks about the half year his company had been pulled from Afghanistan to help reinforce the surge in Iraq.

“Can’t ever really forget a city, can you?” Five says as he peers over the edge at the alleyway below. He kicks a piece of debris off the side and looks at John. “Though not quite the same as what it was like seven years ago.”

John wants to ask when Five had been here--but he doesn’t know how much he’s allowed to ask. He’s working up the nerve when Five drops his cigarette and crushes it with the heel of his boot. He pulls a map from his pocket and unfolds it. “Come on.”

John moves forward and looks at the map upside down. It’s of Baghdad, with routes outlined in different colours and intersections circled in the south. Five ignores those and focuses on a different area: Adhamiyah.

“Only chance we can grab her at a time when her husband isn’t home is going to be during Friday prayers,” Five says, “There might be too many hostiles at her house so we can meet her at a local market. We’ll have about half an hour head start if we can get rid of her guard.”

John glances from the map up to Five’s face. “So when you say ‘get rid of’?”

“I mean.” Five looks up to meet his gaze. “She’s one of our most valuable assets and she’s coming back to London with us.”

_____

John stares up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It’s the same anxiety he’s experienced right before an important short term mission into hostile territory. But the closer they get to dawn, the calmer John becomes and eventually he closes his eyes to catch a quick two hours of sleep.

When he wakes up, Sherlock is sprawled across the other bed, asleep. John doesn’t wake him. He gets coffee and sfiha for breakfast while Five goes over their route from the market, to the car waiting to take them to Baghdad International, onto a British military jet taking off from US controlled runways.

“Baghdad is better now,” Five says after he’s finally satisfied with the map John sketches from memory of major intersections in the area. When he smiles, he shows teeth. “But don’t let your guard down.” He tosses an earpiece at John. “For if we have to take a different route.”

John cleans his gun and finds space on his person for another two clips, making for a total of thirty rounds.

He hopes he won’t have to use any.

_____

Forty minutes before midday, he and Five get into the car and drive to the edge of the Adhamiyah district. They have to walk the few streets to the market. Five glances sideways at him. “Should have dyed your hair,” he says.

“If you had any cash, I’d buy a turban,” John replies.

“This way,” Five says, even though John knows the route.

When they finally catch sight of Hadiya, Five hisses, “Shit,” under his breath and John sees immediately what’s wrong.

“That’s her husband,” Five says.

“You said we have to bring her back with us no matter what.”

“Killing him would create more problems than it would solve,” Five replies and pulls out the satellite phone.

“I’ve got an idea,” John says and pulls out the radio Sherlock had given him. “If you’ve got one too, we can track both of them. Catch them when they’re apart and go in to get her.”

Five pauses in the middle of dialling before switching to a new number.

When the other end picks up, he says, “I need the quartermaster.”

_____

“Left,” Sherlock says over the earpiece, “Down this next street.”

They turn left into an alleyway where three boys are playing with a football. Their laughter abruptly cuts off as they notice John and Five. One of them catches the ball and they watch the two of them pass in silence.

“Keep going straight,” Sherlock instructs, “There will be a courtyard. She’s alone in the building to the right.”

The courtyard is silent when they enter. A few chickens peck at the ground in one of the corners. There are no children playing here, no clothes on the clotheslines stretched across the courtyard, no windows are open.

“There’s something wrong,” John says. Five glances at him and nods slightly. John draws his gun and they move towards the building to the right, standing at an angle to cover each others’ backs from every angle.

A door on the second floor opens and Hadiya steps out. She looks terrified.

“Shit,” Five says just as someone starts shooting. They hurry through the open doorway followed by a hailstorm of bullets and run up the stairs.

“What’s happening?” Sherlock asks, sounding panicked.

“Not the time,” John answers and slams into the door of the flat of the balcony Hadiya had stepped out on. It doesn’t budge.

“Around the corner,” Five says and John moves so that he’s not in the line of a ricochet. There’s a blast of gunshot and when John rounds the corner, the doorknob is in pieces on the floor and the door swings open of its own accord. Hadiya looks terrified on the couch and John instinctively turns in her line of sight. Someone has a gun aimed at him--looks familiar, not the husband, probably one of his brothers, so not important--and John shoots before he can make the first shot. He slumps back with a bullethole through his forehead.

John holds out a hand towards Hadiya who takes it, still looking terrified.

“Q, is there another way out of this building?” Five asks.

“Courtyard’s the only way.”

“I’ll provide suppressing fire,” Five says, “You take her and get the hell out of here.”

“Where’s the car?” John demands.

“Quarter of a mile,” Sherlock replies.

“Come on,” John says to Hadiya and tries to smile. She manages the briefest of smiles back. He checks the hallway before stepping out, always keeping his body in front of her and constantly checking behind them as they move down the stairs.

“Can’t get the car any closer?” John asks.

“Road’s too narrow,” Sherlock says.

“Fuck,” John says, “Okay. Direct me.”

“Through the courtyard,” Sherlock says. And then his voice is softer, afraid: “Please stay safe.”

“We have to go fast,” John says to Hadiya, “Faster than you’ve ever gone in your life.”

She nods.

The moment a muffled gunshot sounds from above them, John grabs Hadiya’s arm and jerks her into a run across the courtyard. A stream of bullets hits the ground near their feet when they get near the alleyway, sending up a cloud of dust.

“We’re through,” John says.

“Straight forward,” Sherlock answers.

They keep running forward through the half-sewage in the gutter. John pulls Hadiya forward by the hand, urging her to go faster.

“Detour,” Sherlock says, “Your next left. Small alleyway between the buildings. I’ll have the car pull up in thirty seconds.”

John pulls her into the alleyway. A familiar car pulls up alongside the entryway.

It’s not until they’re in the car and John’s made sure that Hadiya’s okay before he asks, “What about Five?”

It takes a moment and then Sherlock says, “Right now, the target is priority number one.”

_____

John flies back to London with Hadiya and escorts her to Vauxhall. He talks about what happened for two hours to various intelligence officers and then to Mycroft before he writes his after action report and is allowed to go home.

Sherlock stays behind in Baghdad. No one will tell him if Five is still alive. No one will tell him how they fucked up so badly.

_____

“You’ll need an appointment,” the secretary says as John walks past and knocks on Mycroft’s door. “He’s busy,” the secretary insists.

The door opens, and Mycroft looks at John. “Come in,” he says. John steps in and Mycroft closes the door.

“Please take a seat,” Mycroft says as he moves back around behind his desk.

John doesn’t. “Is this going to be a thing? Sherlock flown to unstable regions? Put into potentially dangerous situations?”

“Many of our contracts have similar clauses about risk,” Mycroft says.

John slams his hands onto Mycroft’s desk. “He’s your brother!”

Mycroft folds his hands on his desk. “John, you are overreacting. Sherlock is in no more danger in Baghdad as he would be in London.”

“Right, I forgot that RPGs are sold on the streets of London for fifty quid,” John says, “I forgot that the sectarian violence in London has made it impossible to safely go outside at night.”

“The Baghdad you know has been stabilized considerably.”

“I don’t care!” John shouts, “Your deal is with me! You want me to go to Kabul? Fine. You want me to go undercover in Tehran? I will. Sherlock--” John swallows, forces his voice to be calmer. “--Sherlock is not expendable.”

Mycroft watches him. And then he says, “He is my brother, John.”

“Then you should know,” John says.

_____

He checks his email obsessively in case Sherlock sends a message. Nothing ever comes.

This must be how Sherlock felt.

_____

It’s nearly two in the morning when he’s woken by his mobile ringing. “Hello?”

“John.” It’s Sherlock’s voice and warm relief floods through John. “I don’t have any money. Can you come pick me up at Heathrow?”

“I’m leaving now,” John says, already pulling on his trousers, “See you soon.”

_____

Sherlock looks unkempt when he climbs into the cab that John directs to the arrivals deck. He hasn’t shaved in what seems to be a couple of days and hasn’t bothered to find a brush or comb to tame his curls. The moment he shuts the cab door, he puts his head on John’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

John was going to ask if he was okay, if Five had made it out alive but Sherlock looks so tired that John doesn’t have the heart to engage him in conversation. Instead he puts an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulls him close. He smells like he hasn’t showered in days either but John’s had much worse weeks while deployed.

“Tired?” John asks as the cab starts in the direction of 221B. Sherlock grunts in response and they lapse into silence. It isn’t long before he’s asleep.

_____

Sherlock doesn’t properly wake up until the next afternoon. John makes a turkey sandwich on toasted bread while he listens to the sound of water hitting tile. He makes a weak cup of tea and sets everything out on the kitchen table for Sherlock.

Sherlock eventually emerges, wearing a pair of John’s boxers and a bathrobe. He starts on the sandwich without John’s prompting and flips through the paperwork Mycroft sent over. His bare toes tap against the tile of the kitchen floor.

“You okay?” John asks.

Sherlock looks up at him with the sandwich half stuffed in his mouth. “I hate paperwork,” he says, the words muffled by turkey and mustard. He swallows. “Five’s back in London.”

“What happened?”

“Captured,” Sherlock says, “They realized you planted a radio on the wife but were idiotic enough not to notice the one on the husband. Flew in two agents from Aleppo to help stage a rescue mission once we knew where he was held.”

“You didn’t--” John says, “You didn’t go out into the field though.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but he smiles slightly anyway. “I haven’t been shot at, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” John mutters.

Sherlock drains his mug of tea and sets it back on the table. “Let’s have sex.”

“Wow,” John says, “Sweet talker you are.” But he follows Sherlock into the bedroom and crawls on top of him to kiss him when he falls back onto the bed.

_____

John spends a leisurely amount of time running his tongue down the crack of Sherlock’s arse and lapping at the skin behind his balls. He tongues Sherlock’s hole until Sherlock’s thighs are shaking and he’s squirming against John with little needy noises that go straight to John’s cock.

Later, John slides into Sherlock slowly, angling himself to hit the spot that makes Sherlock shiver. Sherlock holds on to the headboard, face turned into his arm as he moans. John holds himself there for a moment, running his hands down the long line of Sherlock’s body and watching the way that Sherlock's muscles move over his shoulder blades as he whines and pushes back against John. He bends to kiss the arch of Sherlock’s spine before he starts to move, leaving bruises the shape of fingertips against Sherlock’s hips.

_____

“I need glasses,” Sherlock says as he lies on the couch and reads a paper over his head.

“Reading like that, you might,” John says as he sips at his coffee.

“No,” Sherlock says and sets the paper on his chest, “I couldn’t read the license plate of a car that was twenty meters away.”

“Oh,” John says and tries to imagine Sherlock with glasses.

“How do you make an appointment?”

“Dunno,” John takes another drink of his coffee, “There’s an optometrist down the street isn’t there?”

“Ugh, I have to call him to make an appointment? I loathe calling people,” Sherlock says, “John.”

“No.”

“John.”

“How are you ever going to learn how to function as an adult?”

Sherlock smiles at him and the corners of his eyes wrinkle. “Why would I do that?”

“I’m not your personal secretary,” John says without any real conviction.

_____

John’s buying lunch for himself and Sherlock by default when his phone rings from an unknown number. He picks up and shoves the phone between his head and shoulder as he takes the plastic bag of sushi take away from the counter. “Hello?”

“John?”

John stops walking. He stares blankly ahead for a moment before he sets the take away on a table and takes a seat. “How did you get this number?”

“Someone--” his mother answers, “Someone said it was yours.”

“You shouldn’t have called,” John says and thinks about hanging up.

“John.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of crying, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

John doesn’t know what to say.

“I know I’ve been a really terrible mother,” she says and there’s a definite sob in her voice, “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” She’s crying now. “It’s just so good to hear your voice.”

“Mum,” John says and stops.

“I hope you’re doing okay,” she says, “I hope Harry’s doing okay.”

John doesn’t say anything.

“Tell her, will you?” his mother says, “How much I miss her?”

John closes his eyes and hangs up.

_____

John closes the door after himself when he walks into Sherlock’s office. Sherlock looks up.

John looks at him. And then he says, “My mother just called.”

“How’d she get your phone number?” Sherlock asks.

John steps forward slowly and sets the food on the desk before slumping into one of the two chairs in front of Sherlock’s desk.

“I don’t know,” he says. He stares blankly at the back of one of Sherlock’s monitors. “I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

Sherlock gets up and moves across the room.

He hugs John from behind, chin at the side of John’s head. They stay there for a long time.

_____

“I should tell Harry,” John says when Sherlock’s brushing his teeth and John’s tucking himself away after urinating. He flushes and Sherlock steps aside so that he can wash his hands. “That trip back--she said she wanted closure. She needs it more than me. And maybe this would help.”

Sherlock spits into the sink.

“I don’t want to though,” John says, “Mum was always good at guilting people. And she’s going to want to see Harry, be a part of her life again. And then she’s going to fuck off to who knows where, all over again.”

Sherlock wipes his mouth on a towel and looks at John.

“But Harry’s an adult,” John says, “She can make her own decisions.”

_____

John doesn’t talk about his father.

But Sherlock must know because he curls up around John wordlessly and traces circles into the skin of his stomach until John falls asleep.

_____

John stares at the folder that Mycroft’s given him.

“For how long?”

“Three months,” Mycroft says.

“I’m not happy about this,” John says.

“I imagine my brother won’t be either,” Mycroft says.

“And how much closer are you to finding your security leaks?”

Mycroft leans back. “The list has been narrowed considerably. But more evidence needs to be collected.”

“Well,” John says, “Thanks for all of the helpful information. Much appreciated.”

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft says.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” John says, “You bring us in because you say that you can’t trust anyone else but you can’t trust us either?”

Mycroft smiles humourlessly. “It’s far more complicated than you think it is.”

“You know what would be more helpful?” John asks, “If you actually let us in on your plans.”

“When you come back,” Mycroft says, “We’ll all sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”

_____

John knocks once on Sherlock’s open door. Sherlock looks up.

“I’m going to Islamabad,” John says.

Sherlock glances at his computer screen before looking back at John. “How long?”

“Three months.”

Sherlock doesn’t look away this time but he doesn’t say anything either.

Another knock comes at the door. Sherlock keeps his eyes on John’s face.

“Sorry.” It’s Nine’s voice. “Am I interrupting something?”

John turns. “No,” he says and forces a smile for Nine. He nods at Sherlock, “We’ll talk later.”

_____

He gets a new passport and identification. His name has been changed to Jamie Solomon and he’s an ex-pat trying to find inspiration for a book. They give him a Sig model compact pistol along with his personalized Browning. He’s supposed to receive more ammunition via courier once he settles into his new flat.

He gets a list of potential recruits and their addresses.

“Follow them,” Nine says as he explains the purpose of the mission, “Get to know who they are, what they like. Meet with them. Get them to trust you.”

It sounds like deception to John. But he nods.

_____

“It’s not fair,” Sherlock mumbles into John’s neck, “I just got you back. Why do I have to give you up again?”

“Just for three months,” John says, though he doesn’t think it’s particularly fair either. “That’s loads shorter than five years. And I’ll probably have steady internet.”

“Not the same as having you here,” Sherlock says and hooks his leg around John’s, soft cock against John’s hip. His nose presses against John’s ear, his arm curled across John’s chest. “I’d lock you up if I could. Handcuff us together and never let you out of my sight again.”

“It’d be inefficient,” John whispers. He pulls gently at one of Sherlock’s curls before sinking his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. “You hate inefficiency.”

“It’d be okay if it was you,” Sherlock says and John turns his head to kiss him.

_____

John wakes to Sherlock peering up at him through his eyelashes with his lips around John’s cock. John lets out a strangled moan as his hips shift up. Sherlock hums low, pinning John’s hips down, and the vibration drives John mad. Sherlock’s head bobs, pale eyes still watching John’s face and John chokes out, “Sherlock--please.”

Sherlock pulls off with a closed mouth kiss to the tip of his cock, tongue slipping out only momentarily to lap at the pre-come. He kisses his way up John’s stomach and presses his mouth against John’s jaw before he growls, “I want you to fuck me into the mattress.”

John rolls them over so that he’s on top. Sherlock wraps an arm around his back, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulder. John turns Sherlock’s face and catches his mouth in a bruising kiss, sucking hard at Sherlock’s lower lip as Sherlock rakes his nails down John’s back. John wants it, wants it tattooed in long scratches on his skin, something, anything to physically mark it as Sherlock’s, Sherlock’s forever, for as long as Sherlock will have him.

Sherlock bites at his mouth, fingers digging hard enough at the back of his neck to leave bruises. John reaches down and fits his hand around Sherlock’s cock. He jerks roughly, swiping a thumb over the tip and Sherlock breaks away with a gasp. John tugs at his balls and presses a finger into him, sinking two knuckles in before he pulls out and reaches for the lube they’d left on the bedside table. Sherlock bites the crook of John’s neck when he’s distracted, a sudden sharp pain that Sherlock smoothes over with the pad of his tongue. He sucks there until it’s heated and throbbing, a sensation that connects straight to John’s cock until John pulls away to crawl down Sherlock’s body.

He slicks his fingers and pushes two into Sherlock’s hole, sucking a kiss at his inner thigh as he searches for his prostate, Sherlock pulls at his hair, snarling something incoherent as John scissors his fingers apart and pulls them out to add a third. He sucks a kiss at the crease of his thigh before lapping at Sherlock’s balls and pressing again and again at that place in Sherlock’s arse that makes him whimper.

He pulls back entirely after a moment and Sherlock actually whines. It takes only a second to slick himself up and then he presses the blunt head of his cock against Sherlock’s stretched hole. He slides all the way in with one movement. Sherlock has his arms around John’s neck and he bites at John’s shoulder to stifle the whimper. John moves in long strokes, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in and Sherlock bares his neck, panting in time with every drive of John’s hips forward. John takes the chance to press his teeth against a pulse point in Sherlock’s neck, to taste his quick heartbeat. Sherlock digs his nails into the small of John’s back and he screams when he comes.

John shudders and sobs a breath against Sherlock’s neck when his orgasm washes over him, pleasure flooding through his system as he comes inside Sherlock. He manages to keep himself up as he pulls out and moves to cage Sherlock’s head with his arms, bending his head so that he’s almost kissing Sherlock, their panted breath mingling.

Sherlock stares up at him for a long moment. And then he tilts his chin up, their mouths meeting in a soft kiss.

_____

John takes a domestic flight out to Islamabad. He keeps the firearms in his bag and buys a Sudoku puzzle book from the airport bookstore. He’s gone over the list of people so many times that he’s memorized them all. It’s easier to just let his thoughts blank out as he mindlessly solves Sudoku square after Sudoku square.

_____

The flat they give him is ten minutes southwest of the British High Commission on the second floor of a three story building. There’s furniture in it already. John takes off his shoes and puts them onto the rack next to the front door before stepping into the room properly. He sets his bag on the dusty coffee table.

It smells faintly of mould and stale smoke. John moves over to the window and gets it open with a little bit of effort. It’s much warmer here than it was in England and the breeze that floats in is refreshing. John looks down at the courtyard below where two children are playing with a green ball.

He pulls off the plastic covering from the couch and the armchair and stuffs them into the closet. There are burn marks on the armrests. John studies them for a moment before wandering into the kitchen.

For one very brief moment while he’s staring at the crust of residue in the teapot, he misses Sherlock intensely. But then that’s swept away from his mind when he realizes how much he has to do. He’ll have to go to the market to pick up cleaning supplies and food. Maybe some toiletries. Then he needs to remember how to navigate Islamabad from the perspective of a civilian.

_____

For the two days that John follows him, Raja Akram goes from his home to his workplace and straight back home. He doesn’t go anywhere for lunch, nor does he visit the mosque in his neighbourhood. He doesn’t meet with anyone. He’s quiet and keeps his eyes angled downward when he walks.

From his file, John knows that he’s a nuclear engineer who graduated from the Pakistan Institute of Engineering & Applied Sciences before being offered a job in industry by a company based in Russia. John knows that he’s unmarried with no children and that he’s nearing his thirties. He just hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to forge a natural meeting with the man.

His fourth day in Islamabad is a Friday and John hopes to bump into Raja on his way to Friday prayers even though John’s half convinced that the man has converted to atheism. It ends up not mattering after all because he gets a phone call on the satellite phone while he’s tracking down the address of another one of his potential recruits.

“Where are you?” Mycroft asks. He sounds tired.

“Margalia Town,” John answers, “Is there something wrong?”

“Get to the High Commission right now,” Mycroft instructs, “They’ll give you further instructions there.”

_____

“Mansoor Kassar was just spotted on camera at Askari Bank not far from the High Commission,” Mycroft says over the webcam as he sends John a link. John clicks it and the picture of a man’s face pops up. He’s clean shaven with heavyset eyebrows and dark eyes as he interacts with a bank teller in the grainy photograph. Mycroft sends him another slew of links and they show the man with varying levels of facial hair, captured from all angles. He sends an encrypted document of Kassar’s files which John starts to scan.

“He’s been on our most wanted list for years,” Mycroft says, “Known terrorist with ties to more than one group. He’s a chemist by trade but spends most of his time recruiting young men with radical views to join terrorist organizations. I wouldn’t have it this way but you are our only agent on the ground in Islamabad. Five has already flown out from Muscat and is expected to be there in an hour. Do you have your earpiece?”

John pulls it from his bag and clicks it on. He puts it in his ear.

“Hi,” Sherlock says in his ear.

“We don’t have control of many cameras there,” Mycroft says, “You need to find Kassar and keep visual on him until we assemble a team to take him down. Do not engage. He’s probably armed.”

“Just caught him on camera at the Children’s Hospital,” Sherlock says, “Have your gun?”

“Both of them actually,” John says, grinning even though Sherlock can’t see him.

“Seven,” Mycroft says. John looks at the computer screen. “Good luck.”

_____

“Do you see his car?” Sherlock asks.

“Hang on, I’m trying to read the license--yes that’s the one.”

“Exit to airport’s coming up on your left”

“Still in the right lane,” John grips the steering wheel hard as he slows down. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Hard to tell yet,” Sherlock says, “There’s still several exits ahead.”

John drives and listens to the sound of Sherlock typing on the keyboard. The car in front of him keeps in the right lane.

“Five’s landed,” Sherlock says, “He’ll be joining you on scene momentarily.”

“At least we’ll have one person who knows what they’re doing,” John mutters.

“Exit for Pakistan Town coming up on your left,” Sherlock says.

“Still going straight,” John responds. Sherlock lapses into typing.

“Next left, Jinnah Bridge.”

“Still straight,” John says.

“How many cars are around you?”

John glances into the rear-view mirrors, “Three. Two in the rear, one in front.”

“He might suspect if you turn off at the same exit.”

“Hang on,” John says, “He just switched into the other lane.”

“Five’s making his way to the motorway,” Sherlock says, “Next exit is Kahuta Road.”

“He’s turning,” John confirms.

“Places of interest. Police academy,” Sherlock says, “Railroad station.”

_____

A train is pulling up to the station as Kassar gets out of the car which immediately drives away. John doesn’t bother to park his car--he leaves it on the side of the road and gets out to follow Kassar. For a moment Kassar swings around and their eyes meet.

“He knows,” John says into the earpiece and breaking into a run, “He just saw me, he knows.”

“Keep visual,” Sherlock says, “Five will arrive in less than ten minutes.”

“There’s a train here,” John says, “I don’t think Five has ten minutes.”

“Kassar?”

John rounds the corner just catches Kassar climbing into one of the compartments. “He’s on it.”

“Get on,” Sherlock orders. The train doors are closing and the train whistles.

“Shit,” John hisses. The train starts moving and John breaks into a run again. He leaps onto the back of the train just as it passes the end of the platform.

“I’m on the train,” John says.

“Good.”

“I’m on the outside of the train,” John clarifies.

John can practically hear the way that Sherlock’s eyes narrow. “Less good.”

John climbs to the roof of the train and hurries across with the wind whipping at his clothes as the train picks up speed. He drops onto the platform that links the two trains together and peers into the passenger compartment. There’s no conductor. John can’t tell if Kassar is seated with the passengers.

“Seven,” Sherlock says, “You now have permission to engage and wound non-fatally if possible.”

“Understood,” John says and slides the door open. A few of the passengers look up at him. John unholsters his Browning but keeps it behind him in effort to not scare too many of the passengers.

“Not in the first compartment,” John says.

“Noted.”

John slides the door open and steps out onto the outside platform again. They’re moving through mountainous territory--within moments everything goes dark as the train thunders through a tunnel. John steps forward into the next compartment.

“Five is following by car,” Sherlock says.

The dim interior lights of the train are useless to identify anyone while they’re in the tunnel. John stays near the door he just came through until the train passes through the tunnel and he can finally see again--

Two bullets hit the wall over his left shoulder. John instinctively moves into a roll--coming to a squatted halt with his gun in front of him. Kassar is halfway through the door leading to the next compartment but John’s shot hits him through the hand, leaving a splatter of blood against the glass. Children are screaming and a baby is crying but nobody dares to get in his way as he runs the length of the compartment.

“Got him in the hand,” John says, “In pursuit now.”

He catches sight of Kassar’s back as he runs through the next compartment and John follows. When he opens the door leading to the fourth compartment, a bullet hits by his feet and John slams the door shut. Kassar is on the roof of the train but his one-handed aim is too shaky to make the easy shot at John.

John opens the door and starts climbing after Kassar with the gun still in his hand. “On the roof again,” he remembers to tell Sherlock.

“You now have permission to fatally wound,” Sherlock says in response.

There’s a tunnel upcoming. John swears and flattens himself against the roof, making his way towards Kassar via army crawl. Kassar struggles to get away but John’s got years of youth and far too much recent training let Kassar get away.

The train emerges in daylight. Kassar scrambles for his gun, blood from the wound in his hand getting everywhere. John can see another tunnel coming up in his peripheral vision as he struggles to keep Kassar restrained. His Browning is gone but he still has the Sig and if only he could put a bullet through the man’s shoulder--

Kassar struggles free and he grabs for his gun.

There is blinding pain in John’s left shoulder and the force of it carries him off the roof of the train.

He thinks he hears Sherlock screaming his name or maybe that’s just the wind. He barely registers that he’s falling.

The water closes over his face.

_____

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

“I’m in position,” Five says over the transmitter, “Train approaching.”

“If you can’t make this shot,” Mycroft says, “Did you see any better sites down the road?”

“This is the clearest shot, sir,” Five says, “Train just emerged.”

“Seven’s transmitter just cut out,” Sherlock shouts at the rest of the room, “Which one of you imbeciles touched the channels?”

“Five,” Mycroft says.

“I have a shot,” Five says, “But it’s not a clean shot.”

Mycroft knows that he had tentatively been expecting this, something like today. There will be only one of two outcomes and it’s not easy to make the choice that will lead him closer to his ultimate goal.

“Do I take the shot, sir?”

He looks at Sherlock who’s shouting at a technology officer.

“Sir?”

“Take the shot,” Mycroft says.

_____

“Agent down.”

_____

It doesn’t register at first. He’s furious with the fucking stupid woman who tried to redirect John’s transmitter through a better satellite and cut him short instead.

When he finally stops shouting, there’s a silence over the transmitter now that doesn’t belie victory--a heavy thing that sits in the open static and Sherlock understands intellectually but he doesn’t _understand_.

_____

The sound coming from his mouth isn’t human. He’s screaming but there aren’t any words or coherent thoughts, just one long guttural sound that rips up his throat with the visceral horror of being pulled apart.

_____

He’s trying to claw Mycroft’s eyes out but his nails are too short. He leaves three long bloody scratches against Mycroft’s cheek, digs his fingers into Mycroft’s lower lip and tries to rip it from his face. People are pulling him back but he shakes them off and closes his hands around Mycroft’s throat and he squeezes and he screams.

_____

In the ambulance he falls silent. He stares blankly ahead for a long time until the field agent who accompanies him relaxes. Then he snatches the gun and tries to blow his own head off but the safety catch is on and the agent wrestles it away from him before he can try again.

_____

He’s given a gown that he doesn’t put on. He stands in his hospital room and stares at the wall for an hour and a half until a nurse comes in to help him change. He lets her move him around and doesn’t answer any of her questions. She lies him on the bed and shuts off the light to let him sleep.

There is a police officer outside his room, watching him through the open door.

He tries to kill himself by not breathing but his traitorous brain insists.

_____

John is dead and Sherlock is still alive. There is only one logical solution but nobody will let him do it.

_____

When Harry gets back to her dorm room from her Friday afternoon Shakespeare class, there’s a university administrator standing next to her door. He asks her to come with him and she thinks that he’s there to reprimand her for the party she had thrown in her room last Saturday or maybe for missing too many classes. He takes her into his office where there are two other adults sitting and looking grim. They say hello but their smiles don’t reach their eyes.

“Sit down,” the administrator says. Harry takes a seat and puts her purse in her lap.

“Agent?” the administrator prompts and it’s at this point that Harry no longer understands what’s going on.

“Harry,” the woman standing in the corner says kindly.

“What’s going on?” Harry demands.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she says, “Your brother was killed in action this morning.”

_____

It doesn’t make sense because John spent five years in a war getting shot at and he never got hurt there once. It doesn’t make sense because John was the only one of them to stand up to their father, the only one their father respected. It doesn’t make sense because John is indestructible and Harry always expected to be able to turn around and be wrapped up in a solid hug, in his warmth, his steady presence.

_____

Mycroft has twelve stitches in his face and he’s back at work.

Now he knows for sure.

Sherlock will never forgive him. Mycroft isn’t sure if this is worth the price.

_____

Sherlock sits.

He doesn’t think about anything, not even about ways to kill himself. Everything hurts.

_____

“I never found a body,” Five tells Mycroft over satellite phone.

_____

Mycroft tries to write the obituary five times and ends up with a blank document.

Sometimes England calls for the greatest of sacrifices.

_____

Harry doesn’t go to her contemporary British theatre class on Monday. Clara brings her food from the dining hall but Harry doesn’t feel like eating. She wraps herself in her blanket and doesn’t get out of bed. Clara crawls in next to her and strokes her hair.

Harry doesn’t go to her Victorian literature class either. She doesn’t go to any classes that week.

_____

Mycroft tries to visit Sherlock once.

It’s the first time that any of the nurses have seen Sherlock show any evidence of life. He wrenches the handle off the sink in the hospital room and slashes at Mycroft’s neck. The police officers are in the room within moments. Sherlock snarls and struggles against them to get at Mycroft.

After Mycroft leaves, Sherlock sits down and becomes still again.

_____

He doesn’t eat. But they put an IV in him and give him all the nutrients and energy he needs to physically survive.

His mind is already far away.

_____

Someone calls. Clara shifts to look at Harry’s phone.

“It’s your mother,” she says.

Harry doesn’t reply. Then she says, “Tell her he’s dead.”

And then she starts crying for the first time because saying it hurts and John will never hug her again.

_____

He has visitors.

Nine crouches down in front of his chair. He looks up at Sherlock.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” he says, putting his hand on Sherlock’s knee as he speaks. Sherlock’s eyes are unfocused and staring at the tiled floor.

“Sherlock,” Nine says, and Sherlock is too far gone to recognize the strangeness of his real name coming out of Nine’s mouth. Nine tilts his chin so that his unfocused eyes fall closer to Nine’s face.

“What if I told you that John wasn’t dead?”

_____

**ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN**

The force of his body hitting the water knocks him out.

By all accounts, he should be dead.

_____

He struggles into consciousness as someone drags him out of the water. They pull on his arms and there’s an intense pain in his left shoulder. He wants them to stop. He chokes up water but most of it drips right back into his nose, some dribbling down his chin. He should sit up. They’re still dragging him.

He feels light-headed even lying on the ground. The wound in his shoulder throbs slowly when they stop pulling at him. His hearing is too fuzzy to make out the words that they’re saying. Someone applies pressure to his shoulder. He chokes up water again and this time someone turns his head so it all dribbles out onto the wet pebbles.

His vision swims. The darkness swallows him back up.

_____

The next time he fights his way into semi-consciousness, he’s on a bed and his shoulder is bandaged. There’s blood dripping from a bag to an IV in his arm. He stares at a stain on the ceiling for a long time before becoming alert enough to actually look at it.

He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know what day it is. He’s naked under the sheets. His gun is gone. His earpiece is gone.

Sherlock.

Sherlock probably thinks he’s dead.

John pulls the sheet off him with clumsy fingers that don’t grasp quite as well as he’s used to. His feet hit the ground and he yanks the IV out. Every movement sends a burning pain from his left shoulder. He stumbles across the floor to the closet and pulls it open with some effort. It’s empty. He looks back at the sheet. Well fuck.

He moves back towards the bed and pulls the sheet off. He uses both arms to drape it around himself, gritting his teeth against the pain in his left.

He makes it halfway down the hall in search of anything that looks like a phone when they finally notice he’s up. A man hurries over as he leans against the wall and pants.

“What are you doing out of bed?” the man asks in Urdu.

“I need a phone,” John says and he’s half certain that the words aren’t right at all, not that the man can even understand them through his slurred speech. “I’m not dead,” John says in English and he’s seized with the sudden terror that Sherlock will do something monumentally stupid.

There’s a flurry of activity around him. Someone carefully gets an arm under his right shoulder and they half pull, half carry John back towards the room he just left. “Phone,” John repeats. He tries to struggle but can only manage to wiggle away weakly with sharp pains in his left shoulder all the while.

He’s forced back onto the bed. “I want to talk to Sherlock,” John says to the woman who puts the IV back into his right arm. She smiles at him and pushes a syringe into the pump. John thinks he might have spoken in English. Then it’s too hard to think and he sinks back into a quiet stupor.

_____

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

Nine returns later that night, in the early hours of the morning. Sherlock lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Nine takes a seat by his bed and manoeuvres the bed into an upright position so that Sherlock is sitting up. He glances out the open door. The security guard sitting outside is sipping on coffee and reading a magazine.

“I have a present for you, Sherlock,” Nine says.

Sherlock does not respond. Nine pulls a laptop out of his briefcase and sets it on Sherlock’s knees. Sherlock looks at it blankly as it starts up.

“I hope you’ll like my present,” Nine says. He swivels the laptop to face him briefly as he connects the computer to his phone to use as a modem. A few clicks and he turns the laptop back towards Sherlock.

Sherlock sits up, his eyes riveted on the screen. There’s no sound but it shows John speaking to a man at the side of his bed, gesturing at his bandaged shoulder and shaking his head. Sherlock touches the screen.

“Oh, you do like it,” Nine says, smiling.

“Is it real?” They’re the first real words Sherlock has said in over a week. His voice is hoarse from disuse.

“Very real,” Nine says and shuts the laptop, “He’s alive.”

“What do you want?” Sherlock asks.

Nine packs the laptop away. “I want you to get better, Sherlock,” he says, “And once you’re outside, come find me and we can go visit him together.”

_____

Mycroft comes to take him home.

Sherlock winds the scarf around his neck and shrugs on his coat. He doesn’t even look at Mycroft.

Mycroft takes him back to Vauxhall because he can’t be anywhere without supervision. He drops Sherlock off at his office--his old office, maybe, if he’s been fired for his breakdown. He’s supposed to keep his door open so the people outside can make sure he’s not committing suicide while he sits at his desk chair. Sherlock wants to laugh at them.

He sits for only a few minutes before he gets up and walks around the cubicles outside. He finds John’s cubicle and sits in his chair. He looks at John’s handwriting on John’s calendar and the old cup of coffee he had never thrown away. All the water has evaporated out, leaving a dried brown scum. 

For the first time since John’s transmitter had gone silent, Sherlock feels like crying.

_____

“You must know who I am by now,” Nine says.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry it had to be done this way,” Nine says, “But I had to show you, you see. About your brother.”

Sherlock doesn’t respond for a moment. And then he says, “Yes.”

_____

It’s absurdly easy to slip Mycroft’s tails. He heads back to 221B to throw things into a bag and walks three streets away before calling a cab to take him to the airfield Nine had given him. With any luck it would be another thirty minutes before Mycroft noticed that Sherlock was gone. He’d left code running on his computer but anyone would be able to look in and see he wasn’t there.

Nine meets him on the runway. They’re taking a private jet to Pakistan and it roars to life the moment an attendant closes the airplane door.

“Buckle up,” Nine sings and he grins at Sherlock.

_____

Sherlock wants to grip the armrests tight but he also doesn’t want to show Nine any sign of weakness. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“All in good time,” Nine say. He turns his head to look at Sherlock. “We can discuss that after we land.”

Sherlock says nothing as he looks at the back of the seat in front of him.

_____

Just a week ago, he had been directing John down this highway to his death. Sherlock hates himself.

He wishes the car would go faster.

_____

John is asleep when they arrive. Sherlock freezes in the doorway and stares for a moment before he clears the space between them in three strides and looks down.

Nine closes the door. Sherlock fumbles for the bedside light and turns it on. John looks okay--he’s not pale and his breathing is steady. There is white gauze wrapped loosely around his shoulder, but beyond that, John looks fine. Sherlock slowly drops into a kneel and presses his forehead against John’s bed, trying to control the sudden gasping sobs that rise unbidden out of his throat.

“Sherlock?”

John’s voice, confused. Sherlock jerks back and stares at John’s open eyes through the blurriness of tears.

“John.”

“Come here,” John says and scoots over. There’s barely enough space for one grown man on the bed, let alone two--but Sherlock climbs in carefully and settles along John’s side. He shuts his eyes and scrubs at his face but John catches his wrist and kisses the corner of Sherlock’s eye. He kisses the tears on Sherlock’s cheek down to the side of Sherlock’s mouth and then he kisses him with closed lips. Sherlock curves a hand around John’s jaw and parts his lips, draws in a shaking breath.

“I was scared,” John whispers against his lips, “That you--” John swallows and Sherlock can feel the movement against the side of his wrist. “Sherlock you have to promise me. You can’t--not ever--okay?”

John’s crying too now. Sherlock brushes a thumb at the tear that slips from the inner corner of John’s eye.

John turns and pulls Sherlock closer into a hug, his left arm around Sherlock’s shoulder as he buries his face in Sherlock’s hair, “You have to promise me.”

_____

There’s no window in John’s room. When Sherlock wakes, he lifts his arm to check his watch. It’s nearly seven in the morning in London. Which means it’s--

“Can you hear the call to midday prayer?” John whispers.

“How long have you been awake?” Sherlock asks.

“A couple of hours,” John says. He smiles crookedly. Sherlock traces his lips lightly with his fingertips.

“You know where we are?” John murmurs, “You know who they are?”

“I know enough,” Sherlock says.

“Will he be expecting you?” John asks. He doesn’t move his arm from Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock strokes the side of John’s nose, touches his eyebrows.

“He can wait,” Sherlock murmurs and sits up to take off his shirt.

_____

Sherlock moves slowly, sliding up and down John’s cock in a lazy rhythm as if they’ve got all the time in the world. He breathes against John’s ear while John runs his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides, and kisses Sherlock’s shoulder. It’s not about coming or even seeking pleasure, it’s about their skin pressed together and sharing space, about reassurance and being alive to do this.

_____

“You’re very talented, Sherlock. I think you know what I want from you,” Nine says when Sherlock finally comes looking for him later that afternoon.

“And if I don’t?” Sherlock asks.

“I would suggest that you reconsider,” Nine says.

Sherlock looks at him.

“John’s recovering nicely, isn’t he?” Nine asks. He smiles. “How many people do you think attended his funeral? It was supposed to be today, wasn’t it?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow.

“Why don’t we think about what you get if you do?” Nine continues, “We have a common enemy, Sherlock. Someone we both would like to see suffer very much. We can work together toward the same goals. I have resources at my fingertips you couldn’t even dream of.” He leans towards Sherlock. “Efficiency is key, wouldn’t you say?”

Sherlock looks at him but doesn’t reply.

“The answer is obvious,” Nine says, “But I’ll give you time to think about it.”

He’s still smiling as he leaves.

_____

John sits outside. Someone gave him back his laundered clothes and John touches the bullethole in the left shoulder of his suit jacket as he looks down the main road of the village. One of the men followed him outside and he smokes a pipe now as he leans against the wall of the house. John is fairly sure that the man is supposed to be his guard.

He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t have any of his identification much less either of his guns. It’d be easy to get them replaced but John doesn’t have easy access to a phone inside the house. And every time he steps outside, there’s always someone there, smoking and watching his every move.

There’s little doubt about it. John doesn’t have to be locked into a hole to realise that he’s a prisoner.

Sherlock sits down next to him. He reaches down and sifts dirt through his fingers.

“I wonder how Harry’s doing,” John murmurs.

The last of the dirt falls out of Sherlock’s hand. He claps them clean. “We could fly back to London.”

“We can’t fly back to London,” John says, “Nine’s not going to let us fly back to London.”

Sherlock looks away, down the street of the village.

“This isn’t the life I imagined for us,” John says.

_____

Sherlock’s gone by the time John wakes up and he doesn’t show up for breakfast either. John waits for another hour in case his meeting with Nine is running long, but eventually he turns to one of the men who are perpetually watching him and he asks, “Where’s Sherlock?” His accent is awkward, his tongue fumbling around the foreign words.

“Gone,” the man replies, “You are to stay here.”

“Is Nine still here?” John asks.

The man looks confused. “Who?”

“Your boss,” John says.

“Moriarty?” the man asks, “No, he is gone also.”

John’s heart beats faster. He has a name. He doesn’t know how it will help him but he hopes it will. “When will they be back?”

“You ask too many questions,” the man says and goes back to his newspaper.

_____

John finds that he has an easier time wandering around the house unnoticed after lunch. It’s how he finds the storage room full of AK47 rifles and several large boxes with the Lockheed Martin logo stamped in a corner. He’d need a crowbar or at least something less blunt than an AK47 to open them though, so instead he looks for any sort of product description and ends up copying several serial numbers from the bottoms of the crate onto the palm of his hand with a half broken ball point pen. He’s spent long enough on military bases to recognize the first few numbers for what the crates contain though: long range missiles.

John wonders if he had a Geiger counter, would he be able to find evidence of weapons grade uranium somewhere in the house just waiting to be shipped off to the right bidder? John wouldn’t put it past Nine. How many other places across the world did he have setups like this?

The next time he tries to get into the same room, it’s locked. None of the other rooms contain anything interesting. The others keep their phones on their person and John hasn’t managed to find one unattended. They won’t let him go farther than half a street from the front doors.

There’s nothing to do except wait for Sherlock to come back.

_____

Sherlock returns at night, five days later. He refuses dinner and goes to splash water on his face in the bathroom. John hears Sherlock’s voice and the bathroom door close. He’s halfway across the room and about to go knock on the closed door before deciding that he doesn’t want to attack Sherlock with questions if he needs his space. He climbs back into bed.

Ten minutes later, Sherlock slips under the covers, greeting him with a soft kiss. He sighs into John’s mouth and closes his eyes and looks so tired that John keeps his questions to himself and lets him sleep.

_____

“I hacked into the US department of defence,” Sherlock tells him the next morning while he takes a shower. John sits on the toilet. He doesn’t need to use anything in the bathroom but he wants to be near Sherlock. “Nine wanted a few forged documents to be put in the system.”

“Forged documents?”

“Missile launch directives,” Sherlock says. 

“Well he’s certainly got the missiles,” John says, “So where’s he going to launch them?”

Sherlock shuts the water off. He pulls back the shower curtain. His voice is quiet. “Iran.”

John meets his eyes. “More war.”

“Sell to the highest bidder,” Sherlock agrees, “How much do you think Ahmadinejad would be willing to pay to get his hands on weapons grade uranium?”

“Sherlock,” John says quietly, “We can’t let this happen.”

Sherlock wraps a towel around himself and doesn’t say anything.

_____

Sherlock has another prolonged meeting with Nine.

John sits outside and writes a list of all the arguments why they can’t stay silent, why they need to get back to London and warn everyone. But he’s known Sherlock for almost half his life now. He can read volumes in the slant of Sherlock’s shoulders and the nuanced tone of Sherlock’s voice. He knows what Sherlock will say, how he’ll argue back, and none of it will have anything to do with the rest of the world.

He asks his unofficial guard if he can borrow a match. He looks at John suspiciously but hands one over anyway. John sets the list on fire and watches the ash float away in the wind.

_____

In the afternoon, Nine packs them all into three cars and a truck carrying one of the large crates John saw. They drive two hours to the middle of nowhere. They file out of the cars and form a loose half circle around the truck. One of the men pries open the crate with a crowbar while another two start setting up the missile launcher.

“Since none of us can be there in person,” Nine says, “I thought we’d have a little demonstration of sorts.”

It takes less than ten minutes for everything to be set up. There’s a ten second delay between the launch of the missile and the explosion. There’s a blinding white sheet of flame for only half a moment before it dies away and half the face of the foothill crumbles away.

The men around him are cheering and applauding. John looks away and notices that Nine’s been looking at him. Nine smiles when John catches his eye and looks away at the rising dust.

“You're all about to become very rich men,” Nine says.

_____

John’s watched more missile attacks than he wants to remember. Mostly while he was in Afghanistan and Iraq but it’s hard to forget the sound of a missile exploding even from miles away. It’s hard to forget walking through the wreckage, listening to children screaming for their parents lying half crushed in the streets where military factories and residential areas had existed side by side for decades. It’s hard to forget the smell of acrid smoke that settled into his clothes and threaded into his nightmares for years afterward.

He stares out the window as they drive back to the house. He’d rather die than let Nine drag them all into another hellish decade of fighting, of civilian deaths numbering in the tens of thousands.

He needs to leave. He needs to tell someone.

_____

“We have to go,” John says when they’re alone in the room with the door closed, “We have to go tonight.” 

“They’ll be up celebrating tonight,” Sherlock says, “Maybe tomorrow would be a better choice.”

“Right,” John says, stepping forward into Sherlock’s space, “So you don’t actually intend to ever leave.”

“Tell me,” Sherlock says, “Say we leave tonight. Say we steal the car keys and can get somewhere where Nine can’t find us. Say we get a phone. You call and explain what happened. What’s to say they don’t come and arrest us on the spot? I’m not exactly innocent here.” He takes a breath and keeps eye contact. “In half a year’s time, we can go back to London and we can have everything we could possibly want, John.”

“Have you ever walked through a battlefield?” John asks. His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. “Houses burning. Arms torn out of their sockets and strewn on the streets. Flies everywhere. And the smell.” He’s holding on to the front of Sherlock’s shirt now, still looking up into Sherlock’s eyes. “And children coming up to you with blood caked onto their skin and they’re begging you for water. But your supply line’s dried up and you don’t even have enough to go around for your soldiers.” He swallows. “You just murdered that little girl and you know it.”

Sherlock is silent, watching him.

“Your brother sent me there,” John says, “Parts of me have never returned.” 

Sherlock touches his wrist.

“I want a world where eighteen year old boys aren’t sent to patrol through kneefuls of blood and sewage,” John says, “I want a world where six year old children don’t have to bury their parents.” He breathes. “I’m going to go whether you follow me or not.”

Sherlock closes his hand around John’s wrist. “If I do anything wrong, Nine will cut your fingers off one by one.”

“He’s probably good at thinking up ways to kill people too, isn’t he?”

Sherlock laughs except it’s not a laugh. When he speaks, it’s in a rush, “When I thought you were dead, I wanted to die. I stopped thinking. I stopped existing in any way that mattered. I was waiting for my body to catch up.”

John touches his cheek and Sherlock puts his hand on top of John’s, staring down at him still. “I can’t do that again, John. I can’t, not when I can stop it.”

“You can’t stop me,” John whispers, “You have to come with me.”

_____

They wait until it’s nearly three in the morning. The car keys are hung on a radio in Nine’s locked office. It takes John a moment to pick the lock while Sherlock stands lookout. Eventually the door opens and John grabs all of the car keys for good measure. John considers taking one of the phones too but it’d be too easy for Nine to track their location with it.

John has no idea where they are but Sherlock drives confidently, even in the dark. It doesn’t take too long before they see the lights of Islamabad glittering in the distance.

_____

John doesn’t have the key to the flat in Islamabad any more but he picks this lock too with a paperclip and a rusty nail he finds on the ground. The passport and extra identification are exactly where he left them in the drawer of the bedroom desk. There’s a box of ammunition in there too and John wishes that he had the gun to go along with it.

_____

The machine accepts Jamie Solomon's credit card and the flight attendant prints out their boarding passes. The flight to London doesn’t leave for another hour and a half. None of the stores are open--John looks longingly for a moment at the clothes and sunglasses that would help them blend into the crowd better.

He finds a public telephone and feeds several coins into it. When he dials the number for Mycroft’s office, he’s met with dead silence. He realizes that the sticker under the dial says that the phone doesn’t do international calls. He hisses a frustrated sigh between his teeth and sets the phone back into its cradle.

He asks the flight attendant if he can borrow the phone behind the desk. She points at the public telephone and only shakes her head when he tells her that it doesn’t make international calls. He half wants to lean over the counter and grab it from her desk but he knows he shouldn’t cause a scene, not when they were so close to leaving.

He wonders if anyone at the house has woken up yet, if they’ve been discovered.

_____

Sherlock lifts the armrest between the two of them and settles against John’s side. John puts an arm around him and stares out the window. They’re situated over a wing so John has to crane his neck to watch the ground receding away from view. Sherlock has a hand on John’s leg and his fingers tap a quick rhythm against his knee, the only outward signal of Sherlock’s anxiety.

_____

John intends to go straight to a pay phone to call Mycroft but they see Five standing with his arms crossed in the waiting area as they exit the boarding bridge.

“We saw your credit card activity,” Five says as they walk towards the parking garages, “Nine’s been kidnapped so we’ve all been on edge. I’ve been sent to come pick you up.” He glances back with a smile at John. “Good to see you alive.”

“Nine hasn’t been kidnapped,” John says, “We need to see M.”

“He’s at a safehouse right now,” Five says, “I’ll take you to him.”

_____

“What did you mean Nine hasn’t been kidnapped?” Five asks while they’re on the motorway, “Do you know where he is?”

“He’s a terrorist,” John says, “He’s been working with them for a while now.”

“I see,” Five says, “Well, I hope you have a lot of evidence to back your accusations.”

Sherlock takes John’s hand and squeezes it. John looks at him. Sherlock shakes his head almost imperceptibly, eyes straight forward. He knows something John doesn’t.

“Why is M at a safehouse?” John asks.

Five has a gun in a shoulder holster. He probably has knives on him too. There’s nothing in the backseat except fast food napkins and plastic bags. There’s a briefcase on the front seat that John can’t reach. There might be something in the trunk--a wrench at least for flat tires--but John doubts he can get to any of that.

“Threat on his life,” Five says, “Kidnappers said he’d be next if they didn’t cough up the ransom for Nine.” He looks at them in the rearview mirror. “We’re all a little on edge.”

_____

The position of the sun suggests that they’ve been going southwest from the airport for two hours. They turn off the A31 and pass a series of farmhouses before turning onto an overgrown road leading into the woods. Tree branches claw at the side of Five’s car but he doesn’t pay them any mind. They eventually get to a dilapidated stone farmhouse that looks like it hasn’t been used for ages.

Five hits a button on the roof of his car. The door of the attached garage opens. There’s an ancient tractor sitting at the back of the large space. Five drives the car into the garage and John makes note of the exits—one door leading outside in the back and another one to their left that presumably led into the house. There are boxes stacked along the back.

They are the only car here. John looks at Sherlock. Sherlock shakes his head minutely.

“Alright,” Five says, shutting the engine. They get out of the car. They have to pass the boxes on their way in and John tries to sniff them discreetly when Five’s back is turned. Faint scent of motor oil--but that could just be the fact that they’re standing in a garage.

There’s a letter opener in a cup of pens on the kitchen counter. John slips it into his pocket.

Five leads them down a set of stairs into the finished basement. John exchanges a look with Sherlock. At the bottom, Five gestures for them to go ahead. It’s his way of trapping them with no exit. John hesitates. Sherlock steps ahead of him, into Five’s space and turns his head to look at Five.

“Would you have shot him,” Sherlock asks, “Even if M had said no?”

Five draws his gun and touches it to bottom of Sherlock’s chin, “Walk down the hall. Second door to your right.” He looks at John. “You first or I’ll blow your boyfriend’s head off.”

John starts walking.

“I don’t think you will,” Sherlock says and John wishes he would shut up, stop goading the man into shooting him. “Otherwise we would already be dead.”

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” Five says and shoves Sherlock down the hall. He corrals the two of them into a room that looks like a stripped down office. John tries to look for an opening to try to stab him with the letter opener but Five stays behind them with his gun trained on Sherlock.

“When’s the launch?” Five asks.

“You don’t know?” Sherlock asks.

“Like I said,” Five says with a snarl of a smile, “We’ve all been on edge.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock answers.

The gunshot seems like it’s too loud to fit into the small room. John chokes off a shout, his hands going instinctively to his side.

“I don’t play around,” Five says, “And while the boss might like that big brain of yours, he doesn’t give a shit about your little boyfriend.”

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock says, “In the early morning.”

The pain is too much. John steadies himself on the desk, smearing blood onto the dark wood. Five looks at him. Sherlock is making every effort not to.

“Fine,” Five says, “I’ll go grab the first aid kit. Don’t fuck with me and we won’t have a repeat incident.”

He steps out and locks the door. Sherlock is immediately on John, pulling his hands away from the mess of blood in effort to assess the damage. Sherlock’s pale and his hands are shaking.

“Listen,” John says through his gritted teeth as he pulls Sherlock with him to the front of the room where Five won’t be able to see them through the window in the door. “Take the letter opener out of my pocket. When he comes in, stab him in the neck. I’ll manoeuvre around and try to knock him out on the table. If you don’t get it in him with the first surprise attack, do whatever you can to knock the gun out of his hands.”

“You’re bleeding,” Sherlock says.

“Shut up and do as I tell you,” John says with as much steel he can muster, “That’s an order.”

Sherlock pulls the letter opener out of his pocket. John takes off his jacket and ties it around his torso tightly. His blood seeps through almost immediately. He ignores it and tries to keep his head clear and alert.

When Five opens the door, Sherlock waits for him to step in and put the first aid kit on the table before he attacks from behind. The letter opener doesn’t make it into Five’s neck but Sherlock manages to drive it into the space between his collarbone and his shoulder. Five roars and drives his elbow into the side of Sherlock’s head, whirling around to aim his gun just as John tackles him into the table.

By some miracle, John’s trajectory slams Five’s head into the top of the table, a sickening crack of bone against wood before the man slumps to the ground, still.

John grabs the gun from his hand while Sherlock pulls out his phone and his keys.

“Is he dead?” Sherlock asks.

“I don’t care,” John says as he pilfers ammunition from the inside of Five’s suit jacket and takes the first aid kit, “We’ll lock the door. We need to get to an area with reception.”

Sherlock puts his shoulder under John’s arm, looking down at the soaked-through suit jacket still tied around his middle. “We need to go to hospital.”

“Okay,” John says as he locks the door behind him. They go down the hall and are halfway up the stairs when the sound of a gunshot rings out behind him.

“Should have killed him,” Sherlock hisses. 

John doesn’t answer, just hurries up the stairs and through the kitchen with Sherlock supporting him. A bullet hits the wall where John’s hand had been only a moment ago as they hurry into the garage.

John flips open one of the boxes. C-4. He was right after all.

“Other side of the car,” John orders and they manage to dive behind it just as the door opens with a furious Five aiming at them. The glass of the car shatters. John shoots back and the door closes momentarily.

“Sherlock,” John says, “We need to blow up this car.”

“Seems like a sane idea,” Sherlock growls but he crawls over to the fuel tank door and opens it with a twist of the key. He tears off a long strip of his sleeve. Five returns with harassing fire but John manages a lucky shot that gets him across the back of the hand.

“When you set it on fire--”

“Run like hell,” Sherlock agrees as he feeds the cloth into the tank.

John touches the wound on his side and breathes in and out to calm himself before expertly reloading the gun. He looks at Sherlock who is fumbling with a lighter. “Wait until he closes the door after shooting at us again.”

Sherlock nods, his eyes flicking down to John’s side.

The door opens. Five is shooting only with one hand. It’s not time to feel victorious yet. John waits before shooting back and half his bullets ping off the closed door.

“Go,” Sherlock says as he lights the end of the cloth.

They run.

_____

Everything explodes in a flash of light. One wall collapses with a shuddering rumble and half the house follows with a symphony of creaking splinters. After a moment of settling, the house burns from the inside out with a steady yellow glow.

Two silhouettes make it halfway into the field before one collapses.

_____

“Stay with me,” Sherlock begs as he slaps John’s face and moves to hold pressure at his side, “John you have to stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” John says but his eyes are slipping shut and he’s trying his hardest but it’s just so hard to stay awake, “I promise you.”

“I called,” Sherlock says, “I called and they’ll be here any minute, John please.”

“Good,” John says and his speech slurs, “You did good.”

“I never promised you,” Sherlock says, “I never promised you. You have to stay John.”

“I’ll be fine,” John says but the darkness pulls him down.

_____

John wakes up in a hospital bed. Sherlock is asleep on the couch at the foot of his bed with a blanket draped around him. His laptop is on the small table next to the chairs and his coat is draped over the end of John’s bed. John half wants to wake Sherlock and ask him to crawl into the hospital bed with him but doesn’t manage to actually form the words. He’s back asleep before he knows it.

When he wakes up again, he catches Sherlock walking out the door. He paces back and forth in front of John’s room as he speaks on the phone, running a hand through his curls and looking annoyed with the person on the other end. Eventually he snaps a goodbye and steps back into John’s room.

“Who was that?” John asks. Sherlock whirls around and stares for a moment before breaking into a grin.

“Some bureaucratic idiot,” he says, “They’re launching an investigation and want me to go down.”

“You should go,” John says.

Sherlock picks up his hand and kisses his palm. He keeps it there as he talks into John’s skin. “They can kiss my arse.” He adds with some satisfaction: “Mycroft’s been sacked.”

John laughs. It hurts his side but that just serves to make him laugh more. Sherlock is grinning fully now, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks down at John and John is so desperately happy to be alive so he can see this: Sherlock’s smile.

_____

The bed is far too small but they manage to fit anyway, with both of them on their sides. Sherlock strokes the soft skin behind John’s ear and his lips brush against John’s forehead when he speaks in a hushed voice. “You said you imagined another life for us when we were in Islamabad.”

He pulls away slightly and looks down at John. John opens his eyes.

John feels Sherlock’s voice more than he hears it. “What kind of life did you imagine?”

_____

**EPILOGUE**

The front door slams shut louder than usual which means that Sherlock’s client that morning had probably been abysmally stupid. Sherlock flounces into the room and tosses his coat onto his chair before throwing himself at the couch, declaring, “I give up.”

“You have to remember that none of them are experts,” John says, flipping his notes shut.

“They don’t have to be experts to realize that I’m clearly the only consultant they have who knows what he’s doing,” Sherlock says, “If they want to ignore my advice, they deserve whatever happens to their network when internet vigilantes come for them.”

“Is that what you’re calling yourself now?”

“Make me some tea,” Sherlock demands and turns to sulk into the cushions.

John obliges. He’s been staring at his textbook all morning anyway. He’s pulling mugs from the cupboard when Sherlock slides his thumbs into the belt loops at the front of John’s trousers.

“I changed my mind,” Sherlock growls into John’s ear, “I want your cock instead.”

“You have fifteen minutes before I leave for my renal lecture,” John informs him and suppresses a shiver when Sherlock licks up his neck from his shoulder. Sherlock’s fingers slip beneath his boxers and John tilts his head with a hitched breath when Sherlock fists his cock and slowly strokes.

“Chair,” Sherlock says and draws his hand away. John takes a seat in the kitchen chair and Sherlock properly pulls the zip of his trousers all the way down. John spreads his legs and lets Sherlock pulls his trousers to his knees. He pushes his fingers into Sherlock’s curls and laughs when Sherlock nuzzles his cock through the fabric.

“Ten minutes,” John says, grinning. Sherlock smirks as he pulls John out of his underwear. He presses a closed mouth kiss to the tip before parting his lips and taking all of John with a single swallow. John chokes. Sherlock hums around him and pins John’s stuttering hips down to the chair. Sherlock pulls back, a hint of teeth against the underside of his cock and he fists the base, cheeks hollowed with the effort of sucking.

And then he’s sliding down again, taking all of John in and it’s probably the hottest thing that John has ever seen. John is barely aware of the noises he’s making and the intensity of his orgasm takes him by surprise, an overwhelming pleasure that makes his vision white out and his legs go weak.

Sherlock licks him clean before tucking him back in and pulling his trousers up for him. John feebly tries to button himself and Sherlock laughs as he kisses him. John can taste himself in Sherlock’s mouth.

“You’re two minutes late,” Sherlock says against his lips.

John swears and starts to throw notebooks into his book bag. “Oh,” he says as he swings the bag onto his shoulder and grabs his wallet, “Some constable called. Lestrade was it? He said he had a new computer virus for you to look at. Said it might be related to a murder.”

Sherlock goes to his coat for his phone. “Did he say what kind of murder?”

“No clue,” John grabs his thermos of coffee and kisses Sherlock at the corner of his mouth, “Sounds fun though. Stay safe.” Then he’s down the stairs and off to class.

Sherlock texts Constable Lestrade back. Maybe the day will turn out interesting after all.

**Author's Note:**

> set in this verse:   
> 1\. [buy me an ounce and i'll sell you a pound](http://emptyaddress.livejournal.com/26484.html)  
> 2\. [the slide show we know](http://emptyaddress.livejournal.com/27304.html)
> 
> Other media:  
> [Playlist based on this fic](http://augustbird.tumblr.com/post/37025508983/hurry-home-a-sherlock-skyfall-fusion-mix-based)  
> [I literally just don't have words for how perfect this art Melody drew of the snow scene is](http://ineffableboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/37231712723/drawn-by-me-for-augustbirds-johnlock-fanfic)


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